Arabian Nights
by threesquares
Summary: Tag for Secret in the Siege. Terrified by the way that Brennan pulls away from him after he breaks their engagement, Booth lures Brennan back by telling her stories. Maybe she'll learn more from them than she expected. Maybe she'll hear more in them than he thought he was saying. Maybe what Pelant hears will be his undoing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

So. I don't think they should get married. I like the idea that families are something you make as well as get, that there are many different ways. I have always liked the ways that Bones, the show, was willing to be different from other shows. That said, the writers wrote it, and as they do, DB and ED sold it. Brennan's face at the end just killed me. 3sq 5/10/13

* * *

"Knowledge of [_One Thousand and One Nights_, or _The Arabian Nights_], direct or indirect, apparently spread beyond Spain. Themes and motifs with parallels in the _Nights_ are found in Chaucer's _The Canterbury Tales_ (in _The Squire's Tale_ the hero travels on a flying brass horse) and Boccaccio's _Decameron_. Irwin, Robert. 2004. The Arabian nights: a companion. P.1-9

"I purpose at one and the same time to shew you how great is the folly of all such [behavior], and how much greater is the folly of those deeming themselves mightier than nature." Day 2, The Decameron, Boccaccio, about faithlessness or infidelity, something that I (and I suspect Booth) am not entirely certain are the same thing.

* * *

"Are we okay?" _Shame at needing her reassurance deepened the agony of hurting her._

"Yes, of course." _She had almost forgotten how it felt to lie to him, lie about how she _felt_. _

"Bones?" _Later much later in bed in their bed in the dark knowing she is awake feeling that she is awake finally finally saying her name just saying it. And not getting an answer._

"_Booth!_" _She gasped and sat up, breathing hard from the dream, not sure if she said his name or not. She looked at the clock. She had only been asleep 50 minutes. Her heart was racing. Booth's breath, so dear, deep and strong from where he slept by her side. She can't help but lean over him, hovering, her face so close to the join of his shoulder and neck where she likes to press into him. Pain in her chest drives her up up and out. Out of their bed, their room. Past Christine's room with its sleepy baby sounds, down down the stairs, to books and light, rhyme and reason._

Bones hadn't slept in their bed for three nights. During the day, they fell back on old habits of working together, routines that had kept them together through kidnap and torture, through unreciprocated longing on both their parts.

During the day, it wasn't so bad, Booth thought. The last three nights were terrible, though. Just awful. She had thrown herself into, not work, precisely, but into the stimulating life of the mind. She was too honest to pretend that she wanted to go back to a time when work would have been her only refuge. Since her partnership with him, since becoming friends with people who didn't have strong leanings toward academic study, she had enjoyed more recreational, but still intellectual pursuits...writing, reading other than for work, puzzles, even some inexpert drawing. This last she cherished less for the results but for the way it gave her a new view of the world around her. Her home office contained all these pursuits and more. Now she was spending every evening there, and every evening she rebuffed Booth's suggestions to talk or listen to music together in an even, unemotional voice that made him shudder. She was writing, or reading. She would come up later.

For three nights she had not come up. Had not come to bed. Had fallen asleep "accidentally" on the couch in her office. Every night he fell asleep without her, reluctantly, trying to stay awake until she came up; hoping that if he stayed awake she _would_ come up; feeling as though he had failed her by falling asleep. He woke up, later, in the dark, without her, guilt choking him, and rose to find her. He let the anger swell and swallow the guilt. It felt good and he let it turn into indignation. It wasn't his _fault_. Each time, when he found her asleep on the couch in her office, his indignation drained away. He couldn't sustain his ire in the face of her vulnerability. Each night he pulled a chair up to the side of the couch, not too close, and sat for a while, leaning forward, elbows on knees, to think and watch her.

He remembered sitting just like this in the hospital, after she was shot.

He remembered that for a week, after digging her out of that quarry the Gravedigger had put her in, he watched over her while she slept,. That first night. Her apartment, with all the lights on. Him sitting up next to her in bed, out on top of the covers and leaning against the headboard, her lying on her back under the covers next to him. He had a magazine and was trying to be very matter-of-fact about it all; something partners did, maybe. Help you sleep after being buried alive. He gave her some time to work it out for herself but when she continued to stare, wide-eyed and stiff as a board, at the ceiling of her bedroom, he slid under the covers, shifted down and leaned across her to turn out the light next to her bed. It was still bright in her room, but at least the lamp wasn't shining on her face. She started to protest but he shushed her and she let him. He pushed and lifted her until she curled on her side and he wrapped his top arm around her, and slipped his other arm under her so that her cheek rested against his bicep. Her token protest was not repeated and she snuggled her back up against his front, nuzzled her face gently against the skin of his inner arm.

What he wouldn't give to feel her against him now. But he stayed where he was, just sitting. To feel as though he was doing something, watching over her somehow.

When he felt sleep dragging his eyelids down again, he carefully put the chair back and covered her with a blanket. Turned off the light. Cracked the window a little for fresh air. She never said anything the next day, if she even noticed these changes in her surroundings. She must have, though. She was Bones. She noticed everything. Each morning, he tried to talk to her about it, tried to find out if she was staying away on purpose. Or rather, tried to get her to admit she was staying away on purpose. But she wouldn't, and was relentlessly pleasant and upbeat during their morning rituals. The last three mornings were each so similar to all of their previous mornings that he could almost make himself believe that something had changed today, on _this day_, and changed back. But by night he knew it hadn't.

By Friday night, he was strung out from late nights and interrupted sleep and he didn't think she was getting any _more_ sleep than he was, probably less. When she got home tonight, she seemed surprised and then a little hostile to find Max in her kitchen, having a beer with Booth.

"_Dad_...what are you doing here?" She leaned forward to kiss him as he approached to embrace her.

"Hi, honey. I wanted to say hello, I haven't seen you all week. Plus I didn't think you'd be too hot for me to just take Christine away without you getting to say good night." He smiled.

"What do you mean? Take Christine away?...ohhhh." Her voice rose in sudden recollection. "Oh, I forgot you were going to take her this weekend." Even to her, the flatness in her voice was noticeable. She regrouped quickly and briskly moved toward the stairs, scooping Christine up from where she played on the rug, surrounded by toys. "Well, I'll just get her things ready. Maybe I'll go back to work." This last comment prompted Booth to move.

"Bones, let's go out—"

"Booth, I've got to get her things. I'll be right back."

He heard the desperation in her voice, knew she was close to breaking and, to save her pride, he let her go. He turned back toward the kitchen from where he found himself, hand on the newell post, staring up the stairs after her. He was almost surprised to see Max, close by. The older man put his hand on Booth's shoulder awkwardly, patting it briefly.

"Hang in there, kid. She'll come around." Booth didn't think Max would be so calm if he knew what the tension was about, knew that for a brief time, he and Bones had actually been engaged. As it was, Booth figured Max would find out sometime and tear him a new one. Maybe he'd deserve it.

Booth and Max went back to the kitchen, making small talk and listening for Bones. Every once in a while, they would hear her talking to Christine or hear Christine squeal. Booth knew she was stalling and taking a little time with their daughter. He didn't begrudge her the time and maybe he wanted to put off being alone with her, the possibility of confronting her, a little longer too. Eventually though, Max finished his beer and went to the bottom of the stairs to call up. Eventually, both parents had kissed their daughter goodnight. Eventually, the door closed behind Max and Christine. Eventually.

Bones stood in front of him, facing away from him, staring at the front door. He reached out and stroked her hair, put his hand on her shoulder, hoping she might let him hug her. But it wasn't going to be that easy.

"You know, Booth, I think that I might go back to work. I am still quite behind—" She turned and tried to move past him. He couldn't stand it, suddenly, and grabbed for her other shoulder, forcing her to stop and look at him. Her jaw set and her eyes were suddenly fierce; she looked like she might fight him.

"Bones—" His voice was low and hoarse with strain and emotion. _Fuck. If Pelant was listening to this, watching all this, he certainly wouldn't doubt that Booth had made her unhappy._ "Truce, all right? For tonight. I'm not going to push, to ask you questions. Just—" He waited until she looked up from where her eyes had dropped to fix on his adam's apple. "Just don't go. Just...stay...home." He didn't say please. It would be too much. He couldn't take much more. He'd have to, more and then some, before this was over, but right now, he just couldn't.

She didn't answer, but she was still meeting his eyes, looking for something. He didn't say please but he let his eyes soften and show his unhappiness. "I'll make us grilled cheese and tomato soup. We'll open a bottle of wine. Maybe watch—" Again, he sensed the shift, knew she was going to refuse. He didn't know what set her off, maybe the implications of a movie, snuggling on the couch with him... "No, I know. We'll play a game. Game night! Great idea, don't you think, Bones?" He let her go. Let go of her. Something like that. Hoped that she would stay. He grabbed supplies from the refrigerator, a pan from the hanging rack, hoped. Back to the island, he started buttering bread. And heard the scrape of a stool, the drawer with the wine opener sliding out then back in, the pop of a cork.

They talked, lightly, of their days. Of the changes in Christine, their favorite ways to make her laugh. How serious she was about things, the intent look she got when she tried to pick up very small things, or when she tried to arrange things in rows. Booth told Brennan a story she had never heard of the time his grandfather had served the entire football team tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Her eyes lit up a little then, to hear about Hank, about the outrageous number of loaves of bread, pounds of cheese, cans of soup he needed. That story helped. The wine helped too.

He knew a lot of card games, but he let her teach him a card game that she used to play with Max. She was ruthless and won more than she lost and every time she slapped his hand, he relished the contact. He taught her a game that he and Jared used to play. It had complicated and ridiculous rules that he wasn't sure he was going to remember but surprisingly, he did. Even more surprising, the game was fun and by the time he caught her yawning, it was 10:30. Not late for them, usually, but they were both really tired. He pulled the cards into a pile one last time but instead of dealing, placed them in the center of the coffee table between them and rose, holding out his hand for hers. She took it automatically but then pulled it away when they were both standing, once she realized what she had done.

"Booth, I think I'll read in my office before bed."

"Bones, come upstairs with me while I get ready. You can come back down later, in a little while, okay?" _If he could just get her upstairs—_ "I'll...I'll tell you another story." She seemed torn between continuing to lick her wounds, in private, and hearing a story. Finally she nodded and moved to put their glasses in the sink. What was it? Why did that work? Was it any story that would catch her attention this way? Or was it the possibility of a story about his childhood, with her own difficult one as her only reference, that drew her in?

He moved to the door and locked it, forgoing his usual triple-check circuit of the downstairs for fear of her changing her mind. As she headed up the stairs, he was right behind her, hand at her back. He had left a light on downstairs, as if he didn't hope that she wouldn't be returning.

"Why don't you sit down, Bones, I'll be right back." And when he returned, she was leaning up on her side of the bed, outside of the covers. Her face gave nothing away; she looked serious and a little pale. He undressed down to his boxers, and, finally, pulled off his t-hirt and put on a clean one. He deliberately ignored the way she watched him but a savage knot of satisfaction swelled at the base of his throat when he knew that she was.

He turned toward the bed to join her. She was so pretty, had no idea that she was. Oh, she knew she was beautiful, but pretty? Delicate and womanly, sweet and tender in her own way. These were things Bones really didn't know about herself.

He knew he could push her physically, knew she would welcome his touch and respond, sexually, but he didn't want to start there, didn't want sex to become all they had. So he settled on his side, propping his head up with his hand, and looked at her. The light from her bedside lamp cast a small amber glow and the room was warm and cozy. "I like being in bed with you like this," he said. She didn't say anything but let a small smile creep onto her face, turned toward him a little. They had been intimate too long, in this very room, for her to not feel their history, their intimacy buoying them up now. They made love here, they fought here, watched sports (much to her chagrin) here, worked (much to his) here, made each other laugh here. If there was crying, it was here.

So she smiled a little and said, "Booth, are you trying to get out of telling me a story?"

He just smiled back and said, "Nah." Now that the time had come, however, he didn't know what to say. "What kind of story do you want to hear?"

"I thought you had a story in mind."

"Well, not exactly. Was there something you wanted to know about?"

"How did you and Rebecca break up?"

Booth was surprised. "Uh, you want to hear about Rebecca?"

"Yes. If you don't mind telling me about it."

"No, no, not at all. I, uh, I told you I asked her to marry me, right." Goddamn it! Now they were talking about marriage again. No wonder she wanted to talk about this. But this was Bones; she was too smart to compare herself to Rebecca, to that earlier relationship, wasn't she? He plowed on, quickly, to get past the marriage business.

"Well, you know, she said no. I think now she was just afraid of losing her independence, her sense of self." _Damn damn damn keep going, get past this _ "and so she told me no. But we didn't break up then."

"No?" Bones sounded surprised.

"No." I mean, I still had another year of active duty, but we were still together. I wasn't home all that often, to see her and Parker—well, you know what happened the day he was born—but when I was home we fought a lot and fucked a lot." She didn't flinch at his crude language. He didn't share how glad he was that Rebecca had said no, that he knew the end was coming and was glad they weren't trapped in marriage when it came. He wanted to cry at the difference between that moment and this one, where he wanted more than he had wanted almost anything in his entire life to marry Bones. He looked at her and tried to let her know with his eyes how much he loved her.

"And..." she prompted. For an instance, he thought he saw an answer in her eyes, but it was gone too quick for him to be sure.

So he told her about being away, writing notes for Rebecca to read to Parker, short letters about his military life to her, descriptions of friends and his work, at least the unclassified parts. Her letters back to him, telling him about going back to school and work, her mother watching Parker during the days, too short descriptions of Parker's growth and accomplishments. He looked down, as he got to this next part, tracing patterns in the quilt on their bed with his fingers as he told her about coming home for good that last time a few days early, wanting to surprise her and give a relationship with her more of a chance. About coming home, the burden of his lethal service a red hot coal in his gut as he travelled through his city, past places he knew. He remembered feeling that the slant of the light, the quality of the light, seemed _righter_ here. Their letters—his and Rebecca's—seemed kind of impersonal to him, sure, but they weren't fighting so much, maybe they were figuring this out. He let himself into their apartment and realized that she wasn't living there alone.

Booth looked up now, to see Bones' reaction.

She was asleep. In their bed. Something loosened inside of him for the first time in days. He let his eyes drift shut and said a brief, heartfelt prayer of thanks. He rose carefully and turned out the light in the room. He took off his shirt, knowing he'd be hot tonight. Rather than risk disturbing her by moving her under the covers, he got an extra quilt from the closet and slid under it with her. He moved carefully until they were as close as possible and he could see her outline in the darkness of the room, could hear and feel her breath get slow and deep. When she shifted and murmured, pushing back against the pile of pillows behind her, he slid all but one out and pulled her into him. She settled comfortably into her pillow, nuzzled into his shoulder and throat, wrapped an arm around him and rested her hand in the hollow of his back. He put all the love and care he felt into his own careful embrace, kissed the parts of her face that he could reach easily, and slept.


	2. Chapter 2: The Second Day

She was on her way out the door before he blurted out. "When will you be home?"

Brennan turned her head to look at him, body still facing forward, bag and laptop slung over her shoulder. Only the smallest of hesitations and then, calmly but definitively. "I don't know. I...have a lot of work to do and with Christine away, I'm going to take advantage of that." Not _Do you mind?_ or _Did you have something planned?_ or even, _Do you want to meet for dinner?_

"You don't want to go out or something? Together? Since Christine is with your father?" He gave it one more shot.

She wrinkled her nose, trying for casual. "No. Not tonight. See you later?" And she was in motion again. But then she turned back. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" Hands in pockets to keep from grabbing her, although at the distance she was keeping between them, there was no chance of that.

"What happened when you got home from the army? I fell asleep before you said."

A spark of an idea. The smallest lift in his chest. Without thinking he shot back, "That's for me to know and you to find out, Bones."

That surprised an actual laugh out of her, a little feminine huff of sound. "What?"

"You'll have to wait to find out. I'll tell you the rest tonight."

"_Booth_..." She was even smiling a little.

"No, Bones, you fall asleep, you have to wait until the next bedtime to get the end of the story."

"Like Scheherazade?"

"Shehaira who?"

"Arabian Ni—"

"Yeah, I'm just kidding you, Bones. I know who she is. Do I look like Scheherazade to you? I can't even spell it."

She pressed her lips together in another little smile. "Well, I guess I'll see you later then."

He tipped his head to the side and down, going for boyish, baring his throat a little, hoping that the vulnerable body language encouraged her a little. "Yeah. See you later."

She hesitated a minute more, looked like she might speak and then took herself away to the lab.

Booth looked around. It was noon. They'd picked up, done some of their normal Saturday morning chores. He needed to think about this, if he was going to wage a war of words. This really wasn't his best thing. He rubbed the back of his neck and then headed for the garage. He did his best thinking behind the wheel, bent over the engine, or even under the car. He'd better get to it.


	3. Chapter 3: Gambling

Booth had a good day, even though he missed Bones. Missed knowing she was in the house while he was in the garage. Missed knowing that when he went back in for a snack or to go to the bathroom, or in the late afternoon to clean up for the day, that he could go find her and kiss her. It was fun to kiss her before he washed up, see if he could make her forget that his hands were all greasy.

Today he worked on his current project late. It was only after he turned off the classic rock station—right in the middle of Jackson Browne's _The Load Out/Stay_—that he realized how dark it was. As if the sun were tuned to the music. He remembered feeling that way as a teenager, like the day wasn't over as long as the music was still playing. In the sudden silence, the shadowy corners of the garage were prominent although unthreatening. He felt safe, standing in the middle of his work space, the sounds of crickets creeping in past the ticking of the cooling engine.

He stopped himself from rubbing his face or neck; his hands were really dirty. He tossed the long ¼ inch lag bolt that he had found on the floor _where the hell had it come from?_ that he had been fiddling with for the last ten minutes onto the workbench as he went through the connecting door to the mudroom.

As sometimes happened when he worked on cars, he hadn't thought about anything in particular during the long hours, but he knew from experience that it was during those timeless intervals of handwork that his brain made the connections it most needed to make. He didn't have any ideas for stories yet, but he'd figure it out. First, dinner.

He couldn't be bothered to order pizza for one, plus it was kind of depressing when the guy usually delivered a pizza for two. He turned on the tv and was eating cereal standing up, checking scores, when the door opened. Booth swallowed too quickly in surprise and choked, almost spitting out the milk and cheerios. "Bones!"

"Hello, Booth." She shut the door behind her and walked slowly into the room, putting her bags on the floor by the closet. She looked a little tired, a little dejected.

"You okay?" He put the cereal down and moved across the room to her, standing close but not touching her yet.

"Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" There was wariness there, in her eyes, but she was still Bones. Didn't back away. He took a chance and leaned down to press a light kiss to her mouth. Her response wasn't...enthusiastic, but still, his whole body thrilled to her taste. He let his mouth rest lightly against hers for a long second and pulled back. Her eyes were watchful, searching, on his.

"Are you hungry? I could order a pizza—"

"No, Booth. Don't do that. I'll make myself a salad." She smiled a little, falsely cheerful _when had she learned to do that? _and occupied herself busily in the kitchen. He grabbed a beer and the open bottle of white from the fridge, took her spot from last night, poured her a glass of wine.

Her sharp eyes missed nothing, including, apparently, the grease smudges he had missed. "You worked in the garage today?"

"Yeah. I got the engine running, finally."

"That's good." Her long shiny hair, thicker than ever since her pregnancy, hung in front of her face as she bent over the cutting board. "I saw Angela today."

"Really?" He was surprised. Since Michael Vincent, Angela rarely worked on weekends. "Yes. She is hoping make progress on some of our ongoing cases." Her eyes glittered as they met his. _Pelant._ He nodded and drank his beer.

"Will you..." Her eyes slipped up to meet his again. "...will you tell me the end of the story?"

The feeling of the connection between them, so thready and weak these last days, was suddenly pulsing, pressing hard and high inside his chest. Before he could help it, he was rubbing the skin over his breast bone, along his clavicles, trying to lessen the pressure. He swallowed, ventured a teasing smile. "You really want me to? Honestly, it's not much of a story."

She turned away, washed her hands, and after she wiped them on the towel, she sat down kitty corner from him at the counter. "Yes." Her husky voice and careful enunciation all Bones. "Yes, I would like that."

"Well," he said, "I don't know exactly when you fell asleep—"

"Your tour was up and you were coming home."

"Oh, well, yeah. So I decided to surprise her, and at the same time, maybe avoid any sort of welcoming committee. I really didn't want to see a lot of people. So I lied, told her I'd be coming home on a specific day and then flew in a week early. I drove to her apartment, let myself in with my key, and realized that she wasn't living alone."

Brennan was surprised. "She was in a relationship with another man?"

"I guess so. I never really found out how serious it was, but his clothes were in the bedroom, more than a few, so yeah, it looked like he had been living with her at least a little while. Like I said, I never really got to know him. She came home, alone thank god. No Parker, no other guy. I attacked her the minute she got in the door, demanding to know how long she had been seeing him and when she was going to tell me, and my temper set off her temper and before I knew it we were screaming at each other. She yelled at me to get out, that she hadn't wanted to break it off while I was away, didn't want to do that to me but now she was sorry she had bothered, and I...I...I called her names. Accused her of betraying me. Which I suppose, technically, she had, but...well, I dunno. Seems complicated now, less clear cut than it was."

She nodded and agreed, softly. "Yes. I can see that."

He sighed, getting ready to finish his story. "So the neighbors came up and complained at the racket we were making, and I slammed out of there."

"Is that when you started gambling?"

"No, I didn't start gambling until later." He remembered something suddenly. "You know, my mother liked to gamble."

"What?"

"Yeah. I just remembered. My parents used to drive us to county fairs, outside of Philly, on the weekends during the summer. Some of them had horse tracks, demolition derbies. My mother and I would stay and bet on the races the whole time while my father and Jared would walk around. Jared wanted to ride the rides and play the games. My Dad wanted to get a beer. But Mom and I, together we would look over the race booklet and pick our favorite names, pretend we knew what to look for in a horse." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I had forgotten that."

"Do you think that your gambling addiction began when you were that young?"

He felt defensive, but wasn't sure why. He _had_ had a problem. Still went to meetings sometimes. "I guess so. So, anyway, Bones, that is the story of how Rebecca and I broke up. I stayed with a buddy for a few weeks, called her sometime around then and learned to eat crow."

"I know what that phrase means, Booth, but I don't really understand what it _means_, if you know what I mean."

"Well, you know how it was when you and I were first partners, me begging Rebecca for scraps of time with Parker?"

"I think so. I remember her being very capricious—changing plans at the last minute, arguing over the way you took care of Parker." She smiled at him. "I wasn't an expert with children at that time, Booth, but I always thought you were a good father."

He smiled back at her and took her hand. He squeezed it, in thanks, and she squeezed it back before rising to put her dishes in the sink. "Well, I'm tired, Booth. I think I might read for a while in my office."

That fucking office. He should have wrecked her office while she was gone. Instead, he just said, mildly, "You gonna let my victory last night go unchallenged, Bones? Plus, I have another story for you."

She seemed torn, but then, to his relief, gave in. "Okay, but you have to make popcorn. I'm still hungry."

Two hours later, they had played more cards and broken into one of the games that Booth had bought for Christine even though "she won't be developmentally prepared to play most of these until she is at least eight or nine years old, Booth." They had played Payday, laughing at the silly postcards they got in the mail and speculating wildly. Brennan won this one and did a little dance on the way to the kitchen with her wine glass.

"Did you just shimmy, Bones?"

"What? No, not at all. I just...did a little victory dance that Russ and I made up." She dared him to make something of it. He let it go and moved in once her hands were free, pulling her close against his body and dancing her around the island, flicking off the lights as he went. She laughed and went boneless, letting her dead weight slow him to a stop near the wall by the stairs. Leading up. To their bedroom. Her head pressed into his chest, hard. Her face was hidden beneath her hair, against his shirt.

"_Bones_." He growled.

Her hands slipped up, reluctantly, to tighten around his neck as she straightened and tipped her head back. He watched the smile fade from her face and her beautiful blue eyes were watchful again. _What was she looking for?_ As he wondered if he should kiss her, she arched up smoothly and kissed him, hard. He didn't need words or any more of an invitation than that. He forced her mouth open and held her face in his. _Let her try to take this away from him, just fucking try_. Like that, he was angry again. Angry at Pelant for making him work for what was his, what was _theirs_. There shouldn't be any doubt. He shouldn't wonder if he could kiss her, if she wanted him to.

She kissed him back, her mouth hot and needy under his. He stroked her mouth with his tongue, her tongue with his. She tasted so _good_. Bitter and sweet and all Bones. And then she ripped her mouth from his, panting and arching away from him now and it was all he could do to hold on to her, using his strength to reel her back into his body. This time, he curled into her, clutched her struggling body against him, pressed his face against her neck. She stilled, stiff in his arms, but not fighting him.

"Booth. Let me go."

"I can't. I don't want to. Why do you want me to?" He spoke, low and harsh, against her throat.

"I need space. I need...I need...space."

"Give me a minute, okay? Just a minute." He breathed her in, memorized the shape of her under his arms for later. Before he let her go, he whispered in her ear. Played his trump card, gave up his best story, early in the game. But it wouldn't do him any good later, if he lost the game now.

"How many times do you figure I saved your life?" He spoke low, in her ear, against her jaw, his lips moving as he spoke, almost like a kiss.

She wasn't sure what he meant. "I...I don't know."

"Well, whatever number you come up with, add one to it. One time I saved your life that you don't know about. Until now." Before she could stop him, he pressed one last hard kiss to her lips. "I love you, Bones. See you in the morning."

He turned and walked up the stairs to their room. He was awake a long time, listening to her move around the kitchen and living room, straightening up. He heard her go into her office, but after that he had to pretend. He would have to have bionic hearing to hear what he thought he heard. The sound of her settling herself on the couch, blanket over her lap. The snick of the lamp turning on. The whisper of pages being turned. The catch of her breath as she tried not to cry.


	4. Chapter 4: The Fisherman's Tale

Sunday didn't turn out like Booth thought at all.

Max brought Christine back early so they could all have breakfast together, and Booth got up to get the coffee going and fry up the bacon and vegetarian sausage. Everything after that, though, failed to meet expectations. On the other hand, with jobs like theirs, and a small child in their life, Booth had learned to expect curve balls.

After last night's confrontation, if that is what it was, Booth wasn't sure how today was going to go with Bones. He was just mixing the waffle batter in the kitchen when she shuffled out from her office. He never _ever_ failed to get a kick out of how messy she looked in the morning—bedhead, squinty eyes, puffy lips. He slept with her—usually—and he had no idea what she did in the night to make her hair look like that. He gave her a little smile as she looked blearily at him.

And then his phone rang. And hers. And Max walked in with a flushed Christine, sneezing and whining and hot. Booth threw his FBI jacket on over his Sunday jeans and Flyers t-shirt. Bones, surprisingly, hardly objected at all to being the one left behind. Her focus was on Christine, who had a fever of 101.6. Not terribly high but enough to explain the bright eyes and pink cheeks, the hoarse cries of "mum-mah", and the tiny arms clutching Bones around the neck. Christine buried her face in her mother's shoulder and didn't even raise her head when Booth pressed his lips to her hot sweaty cheek and rubbed her back a little.

As he raised his head, hand still on Christine's back, he shared the first truly open communication with Brennan since he broke their engagement. _God, it made him sick to even think the words_. But for now, the tenderness he felt for his daughter as well as the unspoken and almost embarrassing contentment that a parent feels when their child needs them, plucked the chord of connection between them.

"Cam's meeting me there, but is there anything you want me to tell her or the techs?"

"No, Booth. It's been dry, and there may not even be even partial skeletonization. Cam's expertise should be sufficient." She hoisted Christine up a little higher, the little girl already half asleep. Max was just shutting the door from bringing in Christine's things. She couldn't resist turning back from where she started up the stairs to Christine's room.

"But you know what to look for. I trust _you_ more than anyone else at a crime scene. _Call_ me if you think something is not as it should be."

He didn't argue or tease her, more pleased than he probably should be at her words. "Okay, Bones. Will do. I'll call you in a little while. Will you call me if she gets worse?" He didn't think it was more than a cold, but he worried...

"Yes, Booth, I will." She too, restrained herself from anything like teasing. They had not achieved anything like normalcy but they had gotten through almost an entire weekend and they were talking, sort of. Booth figured he'd have to make do with that for now.

The weather might have been dry lately, but that all changed about an hour later, when the heavens opened on them all. He was cold and soaking wet by the time the scene was secured and the witnesses interviewed. He changed into dry clothes at the bureau but the victim's boyfriend ran when Booth and Sweets showed up at the house looking for him. In the end, Booth wished he had left his wet clothes on since the run through suburban gardens and patches of wood probably ruined his suit. He was cold and hungry and feeling shitty himself by the time he finally got home at eight-ish.

Brennan was in the kitchen making tea when he came in. She raised a finger to her lips in warning but whether it was the door opening or because of some other trigger, Christine started wailing from upstairs. Brennan's shoulders slumped in defeat; Booth could tell from her posture that it had been a long day. Christine's wails turned to coughing—a hard, barking cough, like a seal.

"Croupy, huh?" Booth commented as he hurriedly stripped off his clothes by the door. "I'll get her, Bones. Just give me...one second...Christine...I think I...left..." he rummaged in a gym back under the bench. "A ha!" Triumphantly, he drew out sweatpants and a t-shirt and pulled them on quickly, hopping and almost falling in his rush to get them on. Either Bones was _really _tired and ready for a break, or the fact that he had stripped _all the way_ down and was now going commando, had stunned her into silence, and he took the stairs two at a time without any protest from her.

"Hey, hey, baby girl. Hey, shhhh." Christine was standing in her crib in the dim twilight of her room, arms outstretched and he scooped her up, rubbing her back soothingly while she coughed into his shoulder. "Cmon, baby, let's get you outside." It was no longer raining but cool and moist outside from the day's weather. Perfect for soothing a croupy baby. Brennan was sitting curled up on the couch when he came down, hot tea in her lap, her head resting against the back of the cushions. She watched him wrap Christine in her little fleece jacket, put a little knit hat on her head.

"Why don't you go up to bed, Bones? I'll stay with her." He only realized what he said after he said it but dammit he wasn't sorry. _He _didn't have to pretend he wanted her to sleep in her office. She didn't respond to his comment either way though, other than to say, "Thanks, Booth."

Booth stood and walked in their backyard with Christine who, after ten minutes or so of breathing the cool air, didn't sound nearly as wheezy. Everything was wet so he couldn't really sit down, but he was glad enough to walk around, enjoy the night. For a while, Christine was wide awake and so he talked to her, telling her some of the stories that he had been trying to recall for Bones.

He told her about the summer when he was sixteen and Pops and Nan had sent him and Jared to visit cousins in the country for a month. The two city boys had felt out of place for a few days but all the boy cousins had shared a love of cars and it hadn't taken long before they were scheming together to sneak out to drag race in a nearby town. None of them had their own cars but relied on an uncle's 1972 Buick Century with a 350 hp engine. Damned if they didn't win one too.

He told her about going fishing in the morning with his cousins' grandmother—he never did really figure out what her relationship to him must be. The two of them caught mostly white perch and eels. He didn't remember much beyond the way that she killed the eels with a nail in the head which also served to pin them in place so she could strip the skin off of them. Except the quiet. He remembered that. The way that the lake was completely flat, and so so quiet in the early morning. The country had turned out to be noisy most of the time with bugs and birds and animals and motor boats and flapping tents and screen doors...except for dawn and late late at night.

Christine was asleep now, heavy and totally limp against his shoulder. He was pretty sure she'd sleep now. He locked the door behind him and padded down the hall to peek into Bones' office. He knew before he got there, however, that she wasn't. The relief he felt fluttered weakly in his stomach.

He turned out all the lights. He thought about leaving a light on—there was a good chance they'd be up in the night at least once more with Christine—but he didn't want to give Bones any ideas about coming back down to sleep. He held Christine in one hand and kept his other on the bannister, playing it safe with his tiny cargo. As he expected, Christine went down without rousing. He covered her with her blanket and tiptoed into his own room. Bones was asleep on top of the covers, afghan thrown over her, bedside light on. Booth flicked the light off, and left her for the moment to change and brush his teeth.

Tonight he risked disturbing her, half lifting her until she opened sleepy eyes. "C'mon Bones, under the covers. No arguing. We'll probably be up with Christine in the night and you'll want to be nearby." He didn't feel bad at all for shamelessly playing on her worry for Christine. She shot him a look—sleepy but still definitely a _look_—but did climb into bed under the covers. He propped some pillows up behind him and pulled her over to lay half on top of him.

"Booth, you owe me a story."

"Bones, go to sleep."

"No, Booth. I'm here. You have lured me here, like Scheherazade, and now to keep me here you have to tell me a story. Tell me the story of how you saved my life and did not see fit to inform me of it."

He ignored her prompt. He wasn't going _there_ tonight, that was for damn sure. "I already told Christine my stories."

"You told Christine stories? She doesn't even understand them yet." Her voice was husky and low in the dark. He closed his eyes briefly and while he didn't risk pressing a kiss into her hair, he did let his fingers stroke up and down her back on the outside of her nightgown.

"She seemed quieter when I was talking, and I had thought of some stories for you—"

"Tell me." Again, he felt his body respond to the rasp of her voice, its demand. Only Bones could tell him what to do and make him like it. Fuck. What a sucker. But he felt his lips curl up in a reluctant smile and did risk a quick kiss to her head and before she could react, he told her about drag racing.

"So you had fun? With your cousins? You liked it there?" He could hear the vulnerability in her voice. She had so little family. His wasn't a big one and the parts of it there were weren't close, but he had more than her, more experience with family than her.

"Yeah. Yeah, I liked it." He told her about the eels and fishing with an old woman in the early morning.

"I like that story, Booth." He didn't know what to say to that, just tightened his grip on her a little, like a hug. "Tell me more."

"Bones, don't you want to sleep? That's all I've got."

"Booth, I don't think you understand how this is supposed to work. You lure me to your bed with an intricately plotted tale of deception and trickery but stop before the end so that I have to return the next night to hear the ending. Your stories do not conform to the accepted literary form." She lectured.

He ignored this. "All the kids slept in a long room in the camp. The entire wall was made up of bunk beds and the mattresses smelled musty but not bad musty—not moldy, the smell of summer heat. There were two hammocks that we fought over, and a firepit where we roasted marshmallows and hotdogs." He fell silent, tired and also caught up a little, in memory. Booth didn't usually spend much time contemplating the past.

"What else?"

"Oh, so you like my stories now, do you, Bones?" She didn't answer. "How about this? I know they aren't long, but if you like them, maybe you'll want to hear more of them tomorrow night."

A little more silence while she thought about that. "That is acceptable, Booth. But don't think I have forgotten what you said last night."

"I never thought you would, Bones." He smiled against her hair and she moved against him to get more comfortable, finally turning over to face away from him, one leg crooked and one leg stretched out.

She didn't reach back for his arm though, as she sometimes did, and stretch it across her, linking their fingers. He tried to relax and be grateful for what he had but before he could start to worry again, he felt her foot against his. At first he thought it was just an accident, but he felt the brush of the sole of her foot on the top of his. Once, _twice_, and then again.

He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and rolled onto his side to spoon against her, his arm taking its place around her, pulling her more tightly against him. In the dark, her hand came to rest lightly on his.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to my Dad for helping me think of stories for Booth. These are his stories too. Oh, and also thanks to my Dad for not laughing at me.


	5. Chapter 5: She Whose Dominion is Free

Monday and Tuesday nights were much like Sunday. Sick Christine, although improving, was whiny and snuggly in turn. Booth and Brennan both took turns getting up with her in the night and Brennan stayed home Monday, but by Tuesday, Christine was back in daycare for the bulk of the day. Monday and Tuesday nights Brennan stayed in their room, to be close to Christine, although she insisted that Booth tell her a story, or stories. He did so gladly but was a little worried: both that he would run out soon and that the storytelling might unfortunately be routinizing the new distance between them. Ultimately, though, he wasn't used to worrying about something so fuzzy so he just let it go and wracked his brains for things to tell her.

"Did I tell you that I used to skip school when I was about 10, with Mickey Jellison? We would watch movies all day."

"What? You were only 10? What's that...3rd grade?"

"No, Bones, more like 5th, but yeah, we both walked and sometimes we just...wouldn't go. There were two movie theaters on that side of the city, within walking distance, one nice one and one crappy one. We went to the crappy one. It was down by the river, and we'd just mess around until the first showing at 11, sneaking in through the exit door that someone was bound to come through. Very rarely, we had to pay to get in but we didn't usually have any money. Once we were in, we'd hide under the seats when the show was over until the next show started and then we'd watch the movie over or go sneak into another movie. We'd do that all day until 3 or 4 and then walk home." He smiled in reminiscence.

"What happened to Mickey Jellison?"

"I don't know, really. He moved out of the neighborhood before Junior High and I never saw him again."

"Didn't the theater attendants find you?"

"Nah, they didn't look very hard in that theater. Sometimes there were rats. I don't think they wanted to deal with them."

"Rats?"

"Yep. Big ones. Didn't bother us any though. Liked popcorn." Brennan swatted him gently for the silly comment. He rocked sideways as if she had pushed him really hard and she laughed. "What did you do to get in trouble?"

"Booth! I didn't get in trouble."

"C'mon, Bones, you must've done something."

"One time Russ ran away." From the surprise in her voice, he knew she had just remembered. Hard on the heels of that thought, came another. Both of them knew all too well what life was like for runaways. He put his arm around her and pulled him into his side, wondering if she would allow it. Tired, and knowing they were talking on borrowed time—Christine would likely wake up at least once tonight and she'd been asleep for an hour now—Brennan let herself rest against him. She slid under the top blanket on the bed, as if just visiting, and lay down against his chest where he rested against the headboard. "He was ten."

He smiled and let his hand rest on her head, stroking and playing with her hair.

"He wasn't allowed to ride his bike farther than the railroad tracks in the town where we lived. One day, he and my mother had a fight and he yelled at her that he was going to run away. She said that she forbid it. Later, when she was doing something else, he packed a bag with clothes and rode off. We could see him riding away from the upstairs window, and when I asked if she was going to stop him, she just smiled down at me and said, 'He'll be back.'

He _did_ come back, because he left his bag with the clothes. Later, I looked to see what he had packed-because he certainly hadn't unpacked but instead had immediately left to play baseball with the neighbor-and found that he had packed 6 pairs of underwear and 4 pair of socks. Completely impractical." He felt her smile against his chest. His fingers, stroking the long strands of her hair had slipped down to rub her back over her nightgown. She fell silent after her story and before long, her breathing evened out and she was asleep.

***B&B***

The next night, Christine went to bed a little earlier, a little closer to her usual time, and Booth picked up where they left off, reminding Brennan that she hadn't told him something bad that _she_ had done. She flitted around the room, picking up, folding clothes, rearranging things on her dresser, unable to settle, uncertain whether she wanted to stay. She'd been able to go back to work today and away from their home, the home they had made together, she was reminded of all she was, and felt rare anxiety for the things she wasn't. Doubts crept in as to why he broke their engagement. Was he _really_ all right with loving her out of the bounds of a convention he cherished and desired, or was there something else, something that made him wonder if he might feel differently someday?

She wanted to ask him about the time he saved her life but knew that this would be a long story, and maybe a hard story to hear. She wasn't sure that she was ready for that level of commitment tonight. Absentmindedly, she answered him.

"Booth, I told you, I didn't get into trouble. I was extremely rational, even then, and I didn't see any purpose in doing things that were destructive or would keep me from learning."

"Bones, you told me your mom told you—"

"Booth, the trauma of the shot—"

"I know, Bones. It wasn't really your mother but whatever she was, she told you that you were smoking cigarettes with some boy."

"Scott Morrison."

"Yeah, that one. So you were getting into a little trouble."

"Perhaps I was starting to. I don't know. I don't really remember much of that year."

"Oh, c'mon Bones, you must've done something."

"Sometimes..." She faltered and didn't finish her sentence.

He waited, then snagged her hand as she walked by, pulling her down to sit next to him on their bed. "Sometimes what?"

"Well, I didn't so much get into trouble as have to be rescued. Periodically. Because I was focused on more important matters." Her leg snugged against his as she settled comfortably next to him.

Booth was baffled. "What do you mean? You were a kid. What kind of important matters?"

Her confession came out in a rush and Booth understood that she was embarrassed. "I would find a place to read, often outside where people couldn't find me or talk to me, and then by the time I realized it was getting late, it would be dark."

He was beginning to get the idea. "And you were scared to walk home in the dark?"

A long pause. And then, "Yes. Sometimes. But several times, I was in places I couldn't get out of without light...once I was in a tree, once I was in a neighbor's tree house, once I was in the attic of the library. A librarian had let me look in there at some of the books that had been left up there by the prior owner, and then since hours had passed, she didn't think I would still be there and I...well, I was reading. And then it was night. And the library closed up. My father had to call her at home and ask her if she had seen me. She remembered then that I had been in the attic and then they both came and got me. It was always my father. He came and...rescued me. He never seemed to mind, thought it was funny. Which I hated of course. Given how much trouble Russ got into sometimes, I would think he would be mad at me. But he wasn't."

Booth pushed back so that he was stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard, pulling her with him. She was slow, but she came, leaning against the headboard next to him. When he kept his hand folded around hers, thumb moving rhythmically over her knuckles, she didn't protest, didn't take her hand away. "I think that parents...good parents...know that kids learn by doing. They expect a little bit of bother. He was probably relieved that you weren't doing anything dangerous."

She turned to look at him. "Booth, I don't think I am supposed to tell you stories."

He smiled, pleased with himself for being prepared. _Gotcha, Bones_. "Bones, I did a little research."

She raised her eyebrows in question.

"It turns out, first of all, that the Arabian Nights is not just one thing. What they read in school, mostly, is a version published in Europe, but originally it was a collection of stuff dating back to the Caliphate era." He paused to see if she was impressed.

"Booth, I know you are smart. You don't have to do research to prove it to me."

"Well, it was good that I looked it up because some of the original stories were _short_ ones, like mine, and sometimes were just lines of poetry or riddles. And many of the stories were spoken and shared, not always told by one person."

"So you are extending your original proposition." This seemed to interest her, because she shifted to face him, folding one leg under her body so she was still close. He took in her bright eyes, soft lips, messy nighttime hair, shiny and wavy and so _her_, and felt a wave of longing inconsistent with the fact that she was right here with him. _Damn Pelant_. _Truly, in the most uncharitable sense of the word. Damn him to hell._

"What?"

"Well, your original proposal as I understand it, was to lure me to your bed with stories, in a play on the way that Scheherazade engaged the Persian king Shahryar so that he would not kill her, the way he had other concubines."

"Okay...I'm not sure that I was really thinking it through that much, but yeah, that's kind of what I was thinking."

"But now, you are proposing something even...older." She thought a minute, looking down, and when she looked up he could tell that she was considering whether or not to say something. Deciding whether she wanted to put it out there, if it was something she wanted him to be aware of. _Come on, Bones, whatever it is, if it gives us a way to be here, I'll take it. Whatever it is, I'll do it._ Plus, he still had tonight's ace in the hole, something he read about Scheherazade.

"Well, the Arabian Nights represents the culmination of a middle eastern oral tradition, a way of building and maintaining culture, connections between people. Telling stories is a way to traverse distance between people...gaps that are there because of age or gender or geography or culture. Storytelling as a way of bringing deeper understanding." She looked at him expectantly, and a little anxiously, as if she had asked him for something important.

"Understanding." He reached out and cupped her face in his hand. Her eyelids closed briefly, involuntarily, but almost immediately were back on his. "I can get behind that." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. _Time_. _She was giving him more time. He'd do the same for her._

"So, Bones. I read something interesting about Scheherazade when I was reading about the Arabian Nights. Something that reminded me of you."

"What was it?" She loved when he told her when he thought of her.

He shook his head. "Get up first." And he climbed off the bed. She looked confused and a little irritated, but stood up. He climbed back into bed, this time under all the covers. He flipped the sheet and blanket back on her side, in invitation. Patted the sheet and gave her his charm smile, fluttering his eyelashes at her. She smiled and shook her head.

"You are incorrigible."

"I bet you say that to all the guys." She laughed out loud now. He felt good to have made her relax this way. After a brief pause while she weighed her options, she slid into bed next to him. He reached across her and turned off her light but left his on, reaching onto his side table for a piece of paper. "I couldn't remember it all so I wrote it down."

She turned on her side facing him, expectant.

He quoted from the book he had bought from the Jeffersonian bookshop about the Arabian Nights. Thank God for the Persian art exhibit. "[Scheherazade] had perused the books, annals and legends of preceding Kings, and the stories, examples and instances of bygone men and things; indeed it was said that she had collected a thousand books of histories relating to antique races and departed rulers. She had perused the works of the poets and knew them by heart; she had studied philosophy and the sciences, arts and accomplishments; and she was pleasant and polite, wise and witty, well read and well bred."*

He twisted to put the paper on the nightstand behind him and turned off his light. The nightlight in the bathroom was on so he could still make out her outline in the dark next to him. He reached out and stroked her face again. "She sounds like you, Bones. Curious. Smart."

She shivered.

"You cold?"

"No. Booth?"

"Yes?"

"What about poetry?"

"What about it?"

"You said poems were part of the Arabian Nights. Are you going to read me poetry?"

Now he had to smile. Trust Bones to give him homework. "Bones, I don't know any poems, but sure, I'll read you poetry if you want."

"You don't know _any_ poetry by heart Booth? I know a number of poems."

He didn't have to think long. "I only know one. It's not very romantic."

She snorted. "You don't know me very well if you think I want you to read me a romantic poem." _Shit. Note to self: no romantic poetry. Some kind of scientific poetry? _

"_Well?_"

"Well what?" Stalling.

"Are you going to recite it for me or not?"

In the dark, it didn't seem so hard, and he spoke the lines he had memorized so long ago.

"_Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though  
__We are not now that strength which in old days  
__Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;  
__One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
__Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
__To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."__  
_

"_Ulysses_." Bones voice in the darkness was soft and he couldn't read her face or intonation. She sounded...awed? "Why do you know that, Booth?"_  
_

"Tenth grade. A friend of mine needed to memorize it for a class. I helped. I always remembered that part."

When she didn't say anything else, he let the silence fill the room and sleep pull them down.

* * *

***B&B***

* Sir Richard Francis Burton, _The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night_

Scheherezhade means "She whose realm or dominion is free".

A/N: For some reason, this chapter was hard for me. I have more almost ready. I plan on posting more chapters this weekend. Hope you are enjoying it!


	6. Chapter 6: A Soldier's Tale: Part 1

**A/N:** I know! Two posts within an hour or so. I may even post more this weekend. We'll see. This chapter is quite different than the last and I am very interested in your response to both. Your written thoughts would be very welcome, but whether you write or not, I hope you are enjoying the story. Best, 3sq

5/25/13

* * *

The great hope he felt that night, though, took a hit during the next two days as his partner processed. He supposed it was a good thing that he had given her so much to think about but two nights more she slept downstairs in her office.

Wednesday night, Bones called in the afternoon to say she was going out with Angela. He and Christine had Daddy/Daughter night and when he went to bed at midnight, she still wasn't home. She was up in the morning before him, however, and everything seemed pretty normal. That night, Thursday night, though, Bones retreated to her office again. When he went down to cover her up, he could tell she had been doing work on the computer and only curled up on the couch when she was too tired to keep her eyes open.

By Friday, he was thinking he needed to push again. Plus, and he didn't want to be crass about it, but it had been over a week since they'd gotten physical and he _missed_ her. He hadn't had so many sexy dreams about her in years. He'd get Angela to take Christine Friday night—if she would take his call—and see if he could talk Bones into an evening out, followed by an evening most definitely _in_.

* * *

"Booth, I am really busy."

"Bones, we need to talk—" He knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing.

"—Booth, I have to go. I'll speak with you later."

Sighing heavily, he tossed his cell phone onto his desk and looked down at the start of his day: a notepad full of names and numbers he needed to call to try to run down a witness.

* * *

Hours later he strode into the lab, projecting a confidence he didn't feel, banking on bravado, the fact that he knew she hadn't eaten breakfast, and...his ace in the hole...a new falafel place that she didn't know about.

"Bones! Hey Bones, I'm coming to take you to lunch!" He raised his voice as he got closer to set a casual tone, and to warn her that he was coming. As usual, she was deeply involved in a project, this time bent over table set up at the back of her office with model bones all over it. She, Mr. Viziri, and Mr. Bray were all intent on what they saw before them. Brennan straightened and met Booth's eye briefly and he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

A quick glance at Wendell and Aristoo revealed that they, at least, were ready for a break. Brennan was single-minded and devoted _all_ the time, but when upset, she immersed herself in work.

"Bones, I am taking you to lunch and you are not allowed to say no."

"Booth, I really cannot come right now." Her face was composed, but she lied with her body, not looking at him, shifting things on the table that were not important—pretending busy-ness.

He didn't say anything, just waited. The other two men didn't seem uncomfortable yet but they did risk a quick glance at each other. Wendell's eyes even flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. Finally, Brennan looked up. Raised her eyebrows. _Are you still here?_

"Bones, I am playing my partner card. You have to come to lunch with me today. It's a partner thing."

"What? Booth, you cannot just make up new rules for partnership anytime you feel like it."

"No, really, Bones. It's a partner thing. I'm playing my card now. You can choose when you play yours." He smiled at her with his eyes, but otherwise didn't elaborate. He realized in that minute that he was _not_ leaving without her. He was willing to make a scene, and he hoped that she was more reluctant to have that happen than she was stubborn. With Bones, it could go either way.

"Booth, this is ridiculous." But she kept talking, her body relaxing a little from its rigid pose, "I know your rule is contrived." She looked at him, evaluating, and it took all his self-control to not push, not try to bully her into going. Finally, after staring at each other for a good minute—and now, Wendell and Arastoo actually were uncomfortable—she gave in.

"I _am_ hungry, so I will go to lunch with you. But when I play *my* partner card, I will be expecting a good deal more than the opportunity to take you to lunch. Perhaps a gun..." Decided, she moved swiftly to her desk to close her computer and grab her bag. She didn't bother to give final instructions to her interns. Both of them hardly interns anymore, close to being doctors of science in their own right. She paused to smile a little at them. "I'll see you both after lunch?"

As she moved past him to the door, Booth fell in step behind her, his hand twitching a little at his side, but giving her space.

* * *

Twenty minutes later on the sidewalk just a block away from the new falafel shop, near their bank, the diner, the independently-owned appliance store where she insisted they buy their washer and dryer, just two blocks away from consignment shop that used to be a high-end toy store where he bought Jasper for her all those years ago, Booth and his not-going-to-be-wife _because that is all he can fucking think of lately_, stood almost nose to nose.

Fighting.

He didn't even know how it started, or even what it was about really, but he knew if Pelant was watching, it was with deep satisfaction, because in less than two weeks, he and Bones were coming apart. A small part of him knew that this was good, that people were safe, that probably Bones was safer if Pelant thought they were angry at each other. But Bones was arguing with him, _picking_ at him and it was with another burst of satisfaction _and panic_ that he realized that she was starting to _think_ about the fact that he had broken the engagement, rather than just feeling hurt.

"Booth, I don't have any personal investment in the way you eat your food, but as your _partner_, I find it interesting when you act out of character."

"Bones, will just lay off? I was hungry. I don't really care what I eat right now. _That's _not out of character—"

"Well, I just think that when you behave erratically, it undermines the trust I have in you as a partner."

Booth moved closer and his voice got involuntarily lower and louder. "Now you don't trust me? You don't trust _me?_"

"What does that mean, Booth? That I'm the untrustworthy one_?_"

"I didn't say that!"

"I have learned to distinguish _tone _and_ inflection_, Booth!"

"I just meant that I am the last person in the world you should doubt! I did not mean to say that I don't trust you. I do trust you. I have _always_ trusted you." He could feel the strain and roughness in his voice, the cracks. He felt like he was fighting for his life. He waited for her to say she trusted him too.

Her lack of response in what had been a non-stop exchange of verbal blows was shattering.

"You don't trust _me_?" Booth became momentarily aware of his body, the flow of people around him. He shifted automatically to protect her from people who were hurrying by, the jangle of a bike messenger coming down the block. And that is why his body shielded both his own face and hands and her body from the debris that flew out of a nearby building as it exploded outward in a fiery cascade.

Booth's face was pressed painfully into the asphalt and he lay half on Brennan. He pushed up to his knees and ran his hands over her. "Bones. Bones!" He pushed the hair off her face and stroked her face. "Bones, babe, you okay?"

Relief washed through him as she opened her eyes. She was faster than even him, as usual, to understand the evidence of her senses. "Go, Booth."

He ran his hands quickly one last time over her head to make sure she wasn't bleeding and then jogged quickly back to the building, trusting that Bones would help any injured bystanders. It felt like hours but probably only 10 minutes passed or so while Booth and another man ventured in and out of the gaping hole in the building looking for people injured or dead. Booth carried three unconscious people—two men and a woman—out of the building on his back. The first two, he and the other guy carried between them, but the last victim he found on his own, on the second floor, where the blast clearly originated. When his partner of the moment didn't answer his shout, Booth hefted the injured man onto his back.

When he staggered through the blast opening an eon later, Booth could see a red fire engine had pulled up to the curb. He felt something wet on his face and everyone was moving slow. Didn't they know that there had been an explosion? They needed to move faster. He could see Bones helping a man to stand, watched her head swivel _again, so slow, Bones wasn't ever slow_ and felt her eyes lock on his as if she had known he was there. A yellow blur blocked her from his sight and he realized a firefighter was waving a hand in his face, his mouth moving comically, opening and closing like he was chewing in slow motion.

Booth couldn't understand why the man wasn't talking, but then realized he couldn't hear anything. No sirens, no hydrant, no talking, no crying or yelling or anything. Just then the weight on his back was lifted and Booth walked forward, free of the weight of whatever he had been carrying. He looked toward Bones and saw someone familiar behind her. Booth staggered toward Brennan, but felt…strange. He shook his head, almost falling to his right from dizziness.

The next thing he knew, Bones was bending over him. He grabbed her hand and arm like a lifeline and she, with the help of…Sweets, _what was Sweets doing here?_...helped him stand.

With her touch, sound came back. Too much sound and Booth flinched at the cacophony. He could certainly hear the sirens and engine sounds now, the wailing and yelling of voices, the bell of a bike still ringing, but also, running and the sound of gunfire and more explosions. He jerked upward, standing straight all of a sudden and pulling Bones into his body, certain they were going to be thrown to the ground again.

"Booth, what—" He pressed her to him and spun so he could see where the new blasts were landing, so he'd know what direction to go.

But there was nothing there. Or rather, nothing new. Wet pavement and broken glass and firefighters and policemen running.

Still the sound of bombs and gunfire. He spun Brennan again and when she struggled against him, he let her loose a little. She reached up and held his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Booth. Listen to me. _Listen_. It's not real. There was just one blast. Look at me. No. Don't look over there. Don't look away. Look at me." Her voice, clear and calm and authoritative. He had to listen to her. He wanted to listen to her. His eyes focused on her pale blue ones. Her face was dirty. He wanted to wipe the dirt away but when he raised his hand _which suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision to startle him_ he saw a dirty, blood streaked appendage and jerked in reaction. _Phalanges,_ he thought giddily, and then felt vaguely guilty as he looked at his fingers. There was something he was supposed to be doing.

"Booth." Her voice was softer now, a little bit anxious, but no less authoritative. "It is time to look at me. Look at me now. Now. Look at me, baby." He felt her hand stroke his face. When she called him that, he had to look at her. She only _ever_ called him that at night, in the dark. Never in the daytime, never in the light. It was so…not…Bones. Not daytime Bones.

She smiled grimly. "Well, that got your attention anyway." She gripped his hands and squeezed. "Let's get home, Booth. Can you show me the way? Do you remember where you parked the truck?"

With a concrete task before him, Booth started thinking again, although the sound of bombs was still really distracting, and Sweets was now talking, although not to him. Brennan answered him and Sweets walked with them. That was good because Booth kept walking to the right, despite his best efforts to walk straight. Sweets caught him several times and finally just held on to Booth's arm, helping Brennan lead him away from the scene. Booth shook his head, trying to shake the sounds of guns and the smell of smoke. His left ear could hear the explosions and boots running so clearly. He shook his head again, hoping the sounds would go away.

He had parked several blocks over toward the park, and when they got to the truck, Brennan kept walking, like they were going to the park. She passed Sweets the keys she had fished from Booth's pocket and then Sweets wasn't there. But then Sweets was there _what was wrong with that kid? _having caught up with them as Brennan was settling him on some clear ground in the park. He rested his back against a tree and felt his body center itself successfully for the first time since the blast. Nothing had ever felt so good as the solid, grass-covered ground of D.C., the rough bark of the tree behind him. No sand.

Sweets was there and Booth wanted to ask him why he was there but he was wrapping the blanket around Booth and Booth had never felt anything so soft, or felt so warm all of a sudden. Tears pricked his eyes.

And then Bones crawled forward onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him, and he knew that in fact he had been wrong before, that this _she_ was the softest, sweetest, best thing he had ever felt. His arms came up and he held on. He pressed his nose into her neck and breathed, counting. He counted up from one, starting over if anything other than his breath, the number of his breath, intruded. When he finally made it to five, he started down again. He did this over and over, starting over when he got distracted, until all he heard and felt was his breath. Except for _her_, for Bones. She counted as his breath, as essential. He smelled her, became momentarily aware of the strength in her arms, her small hands, the silk of her skin under his cheek

When he came back to himself, he felt a hundred years old. Tired to the soles of his weary feet. But Bones was with him and the flashback had receded. He hadn't had one that bad in years. Slowly, he raised his head from where it rested against her.

She looked at him sternly, fingers stroking the side of his face automatically, convulsively. "Are you all right, Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones. I'm all right." His voice was more like a croak than anything human. He looked around and didn't see Sweets.

"He went to get the car." Bones offered. "Let's go home."

God, he felt awful. "Okay, Bones." He felt the loss of her weight on him and levered himself up, ignoring her hand. When they got to the car, Sweets got out and climbed in the back. Booth was grateful that he didn't try to open the door for him, or offer to drive. Bad enough that Bones took the driver's seat.

They dropped Sweets at the Hoover and went home. Booth showered, hot water pounding into him, until he felt half-way human again and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. It had been one o'clock or so when he had picked Bones up at the lab and it was now past three. No way he was going back to work today and god knows what Sweets told them at the Hoover.

"Booth?" Bones stuck her head into the bedroom. "Are you dressed?"

"Yeah, Bones. I'm dressed." He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. I'm…sorry—"

"_Booth_." She moved across the room to him and he couldn't help it, couldn't think about space or stories or Pelant or anything, he just _needed _her. All resistance on her part was gone for now. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he crushed her to him, loving the feel of her body against him, slipping his hands under her shirt so he could feel her bare skin against the palms of his hands, finally pulling back only to kiss her desperately. Her mouth was hot under his and he pulled at her clothes and his and pushed her backwards to the bed and then there was only the soul deep satisfaction of being with her. He had always felt it. Only with her. They moved together frantically, kissing and holding on so hard that there would be bruises tomorrow. They moved together almost violently, as if they truly could climb inside one another. Booth groaned and moved faster against her, driving them both to a place where they almost _almost_ became one. And in the end, it was Bones who whispered "_Look at me_" in a passionate echo of her earlier demand and when he dragged eyes helplessly eager to obey her up to hers, it was Bones who said the words that pushed him over the edge.

_I love you._


	7. Chapter 7: A Soldier's Tale: Part 2

Booth walked faster, hoping Sweets would take the hint. He should have known better.

"Booth! Booth! Agent Booth! Wait up!" Finally, seeing that people were noticing them Booth slowed, and tried a new tactic. He swung around and stepped into Sweets, causing the younger man to have to stop suddenly and sway awkwardly in place.

Sweets seemed not to notice the aggressive move but leaned in a little, speaking in a low voice.

"Booth, I would like to talk to you about what happened on Friday."

"No". _Fuck gossip_. Booth swung around and stalked off again.

"Boo-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"But you-"

Booth shot back over his shoulder. "I'm _not_ talking about this. Not now, not ever." They were at Booth's office door. Again, Booth swung around and again, Sweets only just managed to stop without crashing into him.

Booth put a hand on Sweets' chest. "You can't come in. I'm busy. And," he let his face show the anger he was feeling _but none of the fear_ as he said, one more time, slower, "I am not talking about this Sweets."

Sweets, for his part, didn't seem surprised, but from the look on _his_ face, he was determined. Booth knew it was a good heart driving the other man so he didn't turn away yet, just stood there, immovable. Sweets reached out and put his hand on Booth's shoulder. To his credit, he removed it right away, but still, he _touched _him.

Hands on hips, pushing back his suit coat, Sweets insisted. "You _need_ to talk about this. You _have _to." Booth opened his mouth. "To _someone,_ at least, it doesn't have to be me," Sweets added quickly.

Booth thought about this and finally, giving up more on the subject than he had in a long time, said, "I talk to Bones."

Sweets seemed surprised and repeated, "You talk to Dr. Brennan about this? About your...experiences...in the army? The bad ones?"

Booth nodded once, but Sweets waited. Booth took a deep breath and felt his shoulders relax. He let Sweets see that _he _saw the irony in this. "How do you think she knew what to do?"

Sweets thought about that a minute, pursing his lips and nodding. "Okay." And again. Okay."

* * *

Things only started going right when Teddy Parker joined his squad. Looking back on it now, Booth was just as much of a kid then as he believed Parker to be. That said, he was never like Parker, never that innocent or good or some shit like that. He had seen too much, been through too much. Booth wasn't stupid, unkind, or unselfaware—Sweet's opinion to the contrary—and he knew that he was not responsible for the beatings his father gave his mother, or him, or Jared. He was a kid. It wasn't, ultimately, his job to save Jared. But he knew that with his head, not his heart.

More to the point, Booth also knew that the times when he got some licks in on his old man, once he started fighting back, he had enjoyed the anger, revelled in it. A truly good person wouldn't. He didn't mind, really. He got to be a person who would do the things that others wouldn't; he got to protect people who needed it. Probably truly good people wouldn't _want_ to do what he did as a sniper, as a soldier, even as an F.B.I. agent sometimes.

Booth was a sergeant long enough to learn how groups worked. Other than being captain of the football time, his time in the army was really his first experience leading. It was one he never forgot, one that he based everything that came later on. Until Bones. She was a game changer, or at least a Booth changer. But that wasn't this story. This story was about how he learned how groups work. How some islands had a professor and a rich guy, a captain and a joker, a beauty and a farmer and a wife. Some islands didn't have a professor, but had a hero instead, or a warrior, or a truthteller.

There were a lot of roles to be played in a group. But one thing that almost always happened is that there was one person who made the group better and there was always one person who made it worse. One person whose absence, when they were sick, meant that the group couldn't get as much done and didn't do it as efficiently. And, one person who, when absent, meant that everyone was _more_ successful at accomplishing the day's goals. It was pretty easy to pick out these people. They were usually leaders, even if they used their ability to motivate people differently.

What no one told Booth before he started teaching groups of young men, leading groups, was that often there was a second set of these people, and they were harder to pick out. A person whose absence you _never_ would have suspected would make such a difference, positively or negatively. Probably because they weren't really leaders, they were...influencers, often without conscious thought or planning. Teddy Parker was like that. He just...got along.

Booth had been around guys his whole life. Knew how to be part of an all male team, had been raised by his grandfather, his Dad, and had in turn, helped to raise Jared. When to joke around, when to stand up for himself or someone else, how to size up and then cut an enemy off at the knees either verbally or physically. These were all routine in the world of the locker room, the barracks, the squad room, probably even many boardrooms still. People like Parker, though, they just existed outside of that structure.

Parker had a picture of Claire pinned to the wall by his bunk. He wasn't gay, so didn't piss off any of the homophobic pricks that are in every unit. He wasn't big, but he was wiry and strong, skilled with his hands and funny, not too smart and not too dumb. He got along. Liked Burger nights. With a smile, shared in the mockery of all the rest of the food the army served. Hated the weather, the officers, the duties. But with a smile on his face. He'd shrug and make a joke. Pitch in. Play whatever position was needed in the pick-up ball game at the end of the day. Parker was easy to like, and he seemed to like everyone.

But he loved Seeley Booth. Called him Sarge, as they all did. Followed him around, wanted to go everywhere with him, but wasn't...clingy. And Booth, Booth, didn't know what to make of it. Hero worship? Was it a older brother/younger brother thing? Didn't feel like the same relationship he had with Jared. Booth had done things that he would be ashamed to tell Parker even as he knew that it wouldn't make any difference. Parker would understand.

The kid was going to get himself fucking killed the first week out in the field, Booth thought. But instead, he was like a lucky charm. In the nine months before Parker died, the unit was successful in almost every mission, everything they attempted together. From reconnaissance to the interunit softball league.

When Teddy Parker died, having taken a bullet that would never have _fucking_ hit him if he had stayed the _fuck_ down like Booth had ordered him, Booth felt that he should have seen it coming, that life wasn't meant to hold so much good. He never again had a streak of good luck that he didn't anticipate the end of. He never again lived entirely free of the conviction that if he was too happy, he would pay.

* * *

Booth figured that Bones would have stayed with him tonight even without a story which perversely, made him determined to tell it. He didn't want her pity. He had talked to her, over the years, about his experiences in the army-some good, some bad. He had even told her, a long time ago, in a bar not far from the cemetery where he gave Claire Teddy's last message, about the mission that ended Parker's life. But he had never told her much about Teddy Parker himself.

They hadn't gone out tonight after all. Bones left him sleeping in their bed while she drove back to the lab to pick up Christine and gather the rest of her things. He woke up from the kind of dreamless, heavy sleep that rolled over him after any kind of emotional storm; the flashbacks were the worst. As always though, after the storm, things seemed better, and Booth got dressed again, pulled some lasagne out of the freezer. Made a salad. Had a game on TV playing in the background. He could almost believe that the past week and a half had not happened and that he was making dinner for his girls, waiting for them to come home from the park or the grocery store or Aunt Angela and Uncle Jack's house.

That feeling only grew when Brennan and Christine _did _get home. Christine was finally feeling better and she gave him a big grin and lunged into his arms. He hugged her gratefully and swung her around. They had dinner together and afterwards, Booth stretched out on the area rug in the living room with Christine and a pile of books and blocks. Bones read on the couch. She had changed her clothes too and had curled up under a throw with a glass of wine, looking up and talking to Christine and him occasionally. The domesticity of it all, the conversation that wasn't a conversation, was soothing. Booth felt his throat get tight and his eyes pricked. He swallowed hard, looking up at Brennan, her hair falling over her beautiful face where she read.

Christine shrieked to get his attention. When he pulled her over onto his chest, kissing her neck to make her laugh, her good humor returned but she nuzzled into his neck and started rubbing her eyes. Booth felt the same way, actually, dog tired, as if he had never napped at all. When he looked over, Bones was standing and reaching for her daughter.

"You'll close up?" She asked him, part of the routine, even though he closed up every night. Even if she turned off all the lights and locked the doors and windows, joining him upstairs on a night when he put Christine to bed, he still went back down to double check. Couldn't sleep without checking.

"Yeah. You want more wine? I'm having a glass of scotch." She paused on the stairs, Christine on her hip.

"Yes, that would be good."

He closed up, poured their drinks, shut off all the lights except the one over the stove. He couldn't imagine that she wouldn't stay with him tonight, but if she decided to come back down, he didn't want it to be totally dark.

They sat in the comfortable chairs by their big bedroom window while they drank. Bones told him a little about the project that she and Arastoo had set up and were bringing Wendell in on. When she fell silent, Booth didn't rush to fill it. He could feel the booze starting to dull the edges a little. Not enough, yet, but a start.

He was leaning forward, glass dangling and rocking lightly from where he held it along its upper circumference, and said, smiling slightly. "I thought of a story for you, Bones."

"Oh? Tell me." She demanded, an answering smile playing on her own lips.

"My unit was sent to South Korea for joint exercises with a brigade of the 2nd Infantry Division and a South Korean army unit. A bunch of us got two-day passes after the exercises were over before we had to go back. We took a train from Seoul to the port city of Incheon." Even though this wasn't the story he was getting ready to tell-or maybe because it wasn't-he drew his narrative out with detail.

"We went drinking, of course. Everyone got pretty wasted." He flicked a glance at her from under her brows, a little uncomfortable with the memory of a bunch of drunk, horny soldiers on leave. "Some of the guys, uh, went looking for...female company. I wasn't in charge, who the hell was I to stop them, but I didn't go with them. The kind of company you buy never had a lot of appeal for me." Another glance at her, but Bones was calm, interested and non-judgmental as usual. "I ordered another beer and was watching the crowd. A lot of soldiers, but not all American. I was just thinking of finding a place to crash when a couple of big guys joined me. Flanked me, really, pulled up stools on either side, sat real close. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was a set up, that I was going to have to fight my way out of there. But they turned out to be Russians-didn't require a lot of personal space. They were sailors, basically merchant marines on two days of shore leave before their ship sailed again for Sakhalin.

"I'm not sure why they approached _me_ but they seemed interested in Americans. Asked me if I was a soldier, about the different kinds of soldiers in the U.S. army. When they found out I was a sharpshooter, they took me back to their table—they had three buddies—and started buying me drinks." He paused and grinned at her. "Damn, could they drink. I was so drunk I couldn't see straight. And they never seemed all that drunk but musta had a bottle of vodka each. They didn't speak much English and I didn't speak any Russian, but we managed to talk about hockey and women. We taught each other some profanity. I ended up crashing at their hotel." Now he smiled at her fully, enjoying the memory. "There were some good times, meeting new people, seeing new places. It wasn't all bad."

"Why do I think that isn't the story you wanted to tell me, Booth?"

Booth downed the last of his scotch in one swallow, rose and took her hand to pull her up. "Because you're a genius, Bones. C'mon, let's get ready for bed."

And it was then, in the dark, cocooned safe in their shared space, with her pulled right up against him, as close as he could get to her, her legs tangled with his but her head pulled back enough that she could see his bare outlines, if not the details of his face, that he told her about Teddy Parker, about what he had meant to the unit, to him. Her hand, warm and reassuring, slipped up his chest to rest against his jaw, to stroke the back of his head gently as he spoke.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to dharmamonkey for the Russian soldiers story. She wrote it up, with a lot of detail, so that it was easy to weave into the story. Thank you. I want to thank all of you who left story ideas, especially faithinbones who is so good at sharing hers. If I don't include the story you suggested in this particular fic, I promise they all will go into the Future Stories file. Keep an eye peeled...

3sq


	8. Chapter 8: A Tale Told by the Fire

A/N: Well, I hope I'm still doing this right, telling it right. For Casket4mytears an answer to the question "In the name of mighty angst... can we have a "bad story from Booth's childhood" where perhaps he sacrifices his own wellbeing for that of others (maybe friends, not just Jared) -a mirror perhaps of what he's done by cancelling the engagement?" I can't do it! I'm not that smart. Pelant would figure it out and kill people and I would have the blood of fictitious people on my hands! Thank you all for reading, for your enthusiasm. I am in awe. Thanks.

3sq

* * *

The way Booth figured it, he wasn't smart enough to beat Pelant at his own game. It was change the rules or nothing. Now, if he—Booth—could get Pelant out of his secret villain lair or wherever he was, onto either neutral territory, or _please God_, home turf, he'd be home free. He was ready to do what needed to be done. That said, he didn't know how—yet—to smoke Pelant out.

Brennan had Christine this morning. Some of the museums in D.C., including the National Museum of Art, had worked out a rotation so that every Saturday there was free entry for kids and a variety of child-centered activities available. Bones didn't approve of all of them but was happy to take Christine around through exhibits herself when that was the case. Booth's workouts this week had been erratic and he was taking the time this morning to run, lift weights, and take stock.

It went against the grain, to put it mildly, but Booth's master strategy right now was to do nothing. _And wasn't he just fucking awesome at it, if he did say so himself_, he thought grimly, feet pounding the pavement, still blocks from the park where he would run around the reservoir. As he ran, he listed the things he knew.

First, Pelant knew things that he shouldn't be able to know, making all of Booth's best strategies suspect. Maybe he had a way to listen in on burner cells. Maybe he could read lips. Maybe he had injected surveillance devices into their asses. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Second, he was watching all of them probably, but Booth and Brennan in particular. This fact set off alarms far off in the back of Booth's brain. He'd have to wait to see what bubbled to the surface ultimately but this fact was important. He was _sure _of it.

Third, echoing his earlier thoughts, he couldn't beat Pelant in mind games. Whatever method _he_ thought of to tell Bones the truth, Pelant would know. Codes, graffiti, handwritten notes, steam writing on the shower stall, whispers in the night. Booth couldn't risk it. Not only because he didn't think it would work, but because it didn't really solve the problem. Sure, Bones would know that he really did want to marry her, but she'd still be in danger. Ultimately, he had to take out Pelant. Telling Brennan outright was potentially too much to lose for too little gain.

Fourth, and this made up the main part of Booth's strategy: the only person who had a chance in hell of beating Pelant was Bones. And what she needed was information and insight. Information that Angela and Hodgins and Cam, even Caroline, Sweets and Max, continued to provide to her. That had been true all along. This wasn't new and shouldn't alarm Pelant. Booth was banking on that moment when Bones saw the pattern within the pattern.

She was a genius. He had seen her make intuitive leaps—she'd probably call them logical leaps but they were talking about the same thing—that no one else could have made. If he gave her enough information, she'd figure it out. Both that Booth had been forced to break their engagement, and how to take down Pelant.

The hardest thing he'd done in a long long time was to really believe this. His job was to trust Bones. Bones would figure it out. She'd do her scientist thing and then he'd do his cop thing. A thousand times he had seen her figure out the truth on little or nothing to go on...just the information provided by the evidence of her senses.

All he needed to do was make sure that they continued to talk and to live normally. He couldn't let her shut herself away from him. The stories seem to have made that possible. He was having to reveal more of himself than he felt comfortable with, and Friday's flashback was the icing on the goddamned cake, but being vulnerable to her, telling her things he had never thought he would tell her, was a small price to pay to help create the conditions where she could succeed.

The temptation to tell her a story of his past where he had been made to tell a lie to protect his brother, his mother, was great. He had many of those stories. He had some from his time in the army as well. Every day he thought at great length of how to send her a message. Every day he forced himself to discard those ideas, those stories. Bones didn't need him to screw around with the message. Anything he could come up with would be child's play for Pelant and for Bones.

He _was_ the message. He, Booth. His love, his protectiveness, his dedication. The way he trusted her to watch his back...how many times, even from the beginning, had he handed her the gun? The things they argued about, the way he made love, the jokes he made, probably how he made the fucking pancakes. The message was that _nothing_ had changed in him, in her, in them. The one code that Pelant couldn't know as well as they did: their relationship. Bones would know, would read the evidence. Nothing had changed. Booth hadn't changed. _Nothing_ had changed. So something else must have happened.

She was already figuring it out. He just needed to do what came naturally, love her the way he always had, have her back the way he always had. Trust her.

The air was burning harsh and clean in his lungs by the time Booth got home and headed to the garage to lift and punch the heavy bag. _On second thought_, he turned back to the house to make a call to Angela. Hodgins answered so maybe Angela was still pissed, but he said they were happy to have Christine this evening and overnight.

Booth felt good, resolved, and focused on luring his partner to his bed tonight.

* * *

Booth lit a fire. It was cool enough in the evenings still to allow this and he felt that they would need the comfort of warmth and light. Also, he realized in the afternoon as he worked outside with the baby monitor nearby on the deck as Christine napped that this wasn't a story he wanted to tell in their bedroom. Bones was home earlier than he thought she would be, actually, and when Angela and Hodgins came by to get Christine, Bones had just gone up to change.

While Christine and Michael played together in the play area...well, honestly, they played _near_ each other in the play area, Booth got Angela and Hodgins drinks and put out some snacks. Angela carried in a pile of folders and binders and walked back toward Brennan's office.

"What was all that?" Booth asked as she rejoined them in the kitchen. She didn't answer except to give him a sour sidelong look, turning to Brennan as she came in.

"Sweetie, I brought you everything I had on Pelant's electronic manipulation of computer systems...the mental hospital, the Jeffersonian, the F.B.I., the corrections and prison bureau in anticipation of your arrest."

"Bones, we've been over that—"

"Booth, I am going to keep at it, whatever it takes. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am, I just don't want Pelant to intrude in our lives any more than he already does."

"What do you mean?"

Booth realized he had gotten close to dangerous territory. "Just that he is out there, we know he is planning, plotting, and I don't want him to touch our home." Gone was his earlier conviction that Bones needed all the information she could get, wiped away by terror for her safety.

Bones, however, just gave him a quizzical look and poured herself a glass of wine.

Angela and Hodgins stayed a while, but were gone within the hour, a little after six. Booth shut the door behind them and turned to find Bones settling her feet under her in her chair by the fire.

"You hungry?"

Bones shook her head wearily. "Not really." He could see that she was tired, maybe even a little disheartened.

Booth smiled at her. "Can I give you something?"

She perked up. "You mean like a present?"

"Well, kind of. More like a...story. From the past. A little one." He reached up onto the mantel and picked up the small cardboard box he had placed their earlier, retrieved from the recesses of their closet.

She took it when he handed it to her and studied the plain brown box. She shook it and it rattled with a sound almost like dice. "What is it?" She looked up at him.

"Open it."

She lifted off the lid. Inside the box were a number of small wooden, plastic, ceramic, and metal figurines. All pigs. "Pigs?" Again, her face showed surprise and question.

"Yeah. When I was looking for something to cheer you up, after the whole thing with Lapin and Epps, I thought maybe you could use something to hold, a talisman or something, like my poker chip. I was searching for just the right one before I settled on the one I gave you. I thought maybe now, you'd like the others."

She looked down at the box and gingerly picked up the figures between her slender fingers. He loved how she touched things, reverent and curious at once. One by one she took them out and leaned over, lining them up on the coffee table. He tore himself away while she did her thing. He had bought some dinner for them earlier, a loaf of french bread, hummus, vegetables, fruit, and a chocolate chip cookie for her; a ham sandwich, chips, and an ice cream bar for him. He carried it all back to her on a tray that he settled on the hassock between them.

"Wasn't there some sort of game you wanted to watch?"

Booth shrugged, "Nah, it's not important."

"Go ahead, Booth. I don't mind. I'm going to sit here and read." Then, almost formally, she offered, "Thank you for dinner."

"Sure, Bones." He leaned forward from his place on the couch to snag the clicker and turn on the game. Brennan rose and disappeared into her office and Booth tensed. If the game was the excuse she used to retreat to her office...but she was back, carrying some of the files. She resettled herself and read, eating her dinner and all of her cookie, while he watched the Capitols lose. Several times he watched her posture get tense and hunched over. Once she jerked her head up sharply to stare off in the distance, unseeing, deep in thought.

"Bones?"

Her eyes turned toward him. "Yes, Booth?"

"What is it?"

"Nothing, really, just...I don't think that Pelant was going to have me killed in prison. I think that he was going to have me released."

"What...what do you mean?"

"Nothing specific, just that the work-arounds he set up in the law enforcement computers would have made it easy to have me transferred and we assumed that meant to a part of the prison where he could bribe or pay someone to kill me, but instead it looks like the kind of transfer he set up would move me out of the prison system. Perhaps he was going to kidnap me, with the credentials of a guard? I don't know."

The whole discussion was making him very nervous, not knowing what Pelant could hear or how.

"Do you want me to do something?"

"No, of course not. I was just thinking out loud. I...I'm getting tired." The game was over and he shut it off with a click.

"Do you remember when we first were partners, there was a body found in the trunk of a car, in Little Salvador?"

"Maria Duarte?"

"Yeah. How did you remember her name?"

Brennan shrugged it off. "I remember the names of things, people. What about her?"

"Do you remember the Mara Muerte gang leader that you fought with at the elevator after we questioned him?"

"Yes. Of course I do. Ortez."

"Well, he put a hit out on you."

"What? Really?"

"Yes. _Really_." He was surprised to find himself feeling some of the residual irritation he had felt then, and not for the last time, that she so casually put herself in danger.

"Well, what happened? I'm not dead."

"I—" Now that it came down to it, he didn't know how to say the rest. She waited, leaning forward in her chair, her entire being focused on him. "I found him...in an alley...later. Told him what would happen if anything happen to you. He was...persuaded."

"That isn't logical. You have clearly not told me the whole story, Booth. What did you say to persuade him?"

"I put a gun in his mouth, down his throat." He stayed still, his mouth tight, eyes focused on her.

"You put...a gun. Down his throat." She swallowed. "He was a very difficult individual, if I remember right. Why did he listen to you, even with the gun, the throat."

"I guess I was very convincing. I even think that he was responsible one time the next year for saving your life. I guess he was afraid that if anything happened to you, I would come after him."

"Would you?"

"Yes. I would have."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. His body was found in the river a few years ago."

She rose and he did too, automatically.

"Why did you do that, Booth? You barely knew me. I knew how you felt, _feel_, about the lives you have taken. Why did you threaten his?"

He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to send her away, but he couldn't help but give her the truth. She needed the truth, always. "Because you are mine."

She shot back. "I'm not _yours_, Booth. You don't own me."

His own temper flared. "I don't mean I own you, _Bones_. You can do what you want. You always do anyway. Always have. But that doesn't change the fact that you are mine—."

"What do you mean, 'mine'? Why can't you make sense?"

"I mean that I _know_ you, my body knows you. You are mine. You are right for me. You can be insensitive and stubborn for no good reason but pride and frankly, have always had an irritating tendency to poke hornet's nests, to needle people. But you know what?" He didn't give her time to answer, but took a step closer. "So do I. And from the first damn day, I felt the pull."

"You mean how we are attracted to each other." She took a small step closer to him too.

Now he was frustrated. "It's more than that. You feel it too. Don't tell me you don't. It's the feeling of wanting to crawl inside of you. When you are next to me, the world is right. Even when I'm fucking pissed at you."

"Booth, that doesn't make any sense—"

"Bones, just stop."

"But—"

"Stop. For me. Stop trying to explain it away. Tell me. Do. You. _Feel_. It."

She looked confused still. "The feeling that I want to crawl inside of you?"

"That's what I call it. It's sure as shit not what you would call it. Oh, _you'd_ never say something as unrealistic. I know, Bones. I know you can't crawl into someone else _alright_? But do you know what I _mean_?"

He waited her out, now quite close to her, close enough to see the gold flecks in her irises.

"Something I have felt for you all the way back to the beginning?"

"Well, yeah. I guess so. What I was describing, I felt it from the beginning."

"There is one thing."

"What?"

"I don't understand what you do to me when you touch me. I have never understood it."

"_What_?"

"When you touch me, what is it that you do?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I don't do anything."

"Booth, you must. From the beginning, when you touch me, it's deeper than it should be. Goes deeper. It's like you are...I don't know... electric or something—" Her lips press together hard, angry at her inability to understand this, at the imprecision that is required to describe it. "You touch just one spot and my whole body relaxes. I have to fight to stay upright. It has always been like that." She is disgruntled at her reaction and doesn't bother to hide it.

"Oh, baby, that's what I'm talking about. I'm afraid you are stuck with me, Bones." He reaches out and pulls her to him. Having just confessed how much she likes his touch, she gives in and the warm rush of her weight against him causes him to stagger back slightly until he braces himself against the wall.

"God I love you."

Her voice is small but audible. "I love you too, Booth."

Her arms were wrapped around his waist, and his hands rubbed her back. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones."

"What did you say to him?"

"I said that if anything happened to you, I would find him and kill him."

"Is that why you were late to the funeral?"

"Yeah, Bones. Yeah." He pressed his face into her neck, his mouth sneaking a small taste of her skin. So sweet.

"Oh." Her grasp of him was just as tight as his was of her. "Booth?"

"Right here, Bones."

"I'm going to go to my office to work for a while. But I'll come up later."

"I can wait up for you." She leaned away from him, and he let his arms loosen reluctantly.

"If you want. But I will be a while. I'll come. Just not right now." Her eyes were dark and serious as they met his, and he did what he had to. He let her go.

* * *

Booth woke with his mouth on her, and her warm body moving sinuously against his. _It had been too long_. "Mine, Bones. Mine." She didn't answer but met his urgency with her own. And in the end whispered against his mouth also. "_Mine_."


	9. Chapter 9: In Which Our Hero

**Chapter 9 In Which Our Hero Makes Coffee, Saves Electricity, Is Lied to, and Uncovers Some Part of the Truth**

* * *

When he got up Sunday morning, Bones was long gone, judging by the cold sheets. But Booth could see the indentation of her head on the pillow, see her nightgown on the chair, feel the imprint of her body on his. Once he was downstairs, he could hear sounds coming from her office. Rather than disturb her, he made coffee and ran up to take a shower. When he came back, she was gone. He thought a minute and then called her.

"Bones, where are you?"

"I'm on my way to the Jeffersonian, Booth. I have a few things I need to check."

"You didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sorry, Booth." And she did sound sorry. "I have arranged to meet Angela and Hodgins at the Jeffersonian in a couple hours and I'll bring Christine home with me. I thought maybe you'd want the time to go to church. I was thinking..."

He waited, then prompted. "You were thinking?"

"Yes. Well, technically I am always thinking, but I think all of the storytelling has brought up a lot of memories...the day that Sully left and you brought me flowers, how you gave me the Brainy smurf figurine I had always wanted, and also that time you brought me to your church. When..." He heard her swallow. "when the gravedigger had buried me. You...you have always been a good partner to me, Booth."

Booth had never been so confused and alarmed. Actually, the confusion was helping with the alarm. She sounded like she was saying goodbye, but half of what she just said wasn't true.

"Uh, yeah, Bones. You too. So when are you coming—"

"Booth, can you do something for me?"

"Sure, what do you need?" He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he'd follow her lead.

"I turned on the space heater in my office this morning. Can you just check that it is off?"

"Sure, Bones. I'll do it now."

"Thanks, Booth. Have a good morning."

"Yeah. You too."

Booth stared at the phone in his hand. _What the hell?_

Sure enough, the space heater was on low. Booth turned it off and straightened, looking around. He didn't come in here often, but it was neater than it usually was. He crossed to the bookshelf lining one wall, looked at the titles—many clearly related to her work, but there was also a complete set of her own novels on one of the bottom shelves. On the very bottom shelf were picture books, some still in shrink wrap. He smiled; she was getting ready for Christine to spend time in here with her.

He straightened and looked around again. As usual her desk had piles of paper neatly arranged in a U-shape across the top and sides, a big space in the middle for her laptop. This morning there was a notebook misaligned in the space, as if carelessly tossed there, or placed there for a minute and then forgotten. On top of the notebook was a square of paper. He recognized his handwriting and when he got closer he realized it was the piece of paper on which he had written about Scheherezade, the part that reminded him of Bones. He lifted the paper and fiddled with it, flipped it over. There was nothing there.

The notebook was gray, nondescript, and one of the high-end fancy notebooks she preferred. It was clearly not new, though, and the cover didn't lie completely flat. On the lower right hand corner he could see the date she started the notebook, a habit of organization that she was hers since they first met. September 2005. Around the time they started working together permanently. Cleo Eller. Booth pushed against the cover with the tips of one hand, pressing it down flat. When he lifted them off, the cover sprung back up gently.

With only the smallest hesitation,he lifted the cover up slightly so he could see the first page. Bones' writing. A lot of it. No wonder the cover didn't lie flat. He had never seen this notebook before, so it was significant that it was just lying out on her desk. He looked around the office, listened to the quiet, empty sounds of the house, sat in her chair and opened the cover.

The first page had written on it across the top:

_**Rules of having a partner/being a partner**_

_Added later, obviously, below this first line, Brennan had written:_

"_And guidelines related to partners/partnerships in that they contribute to executing professional responsibilities of FBI agents and consultants. Including rules for successfully interrogating witnesses, comforting victims, eliciting information from bystanders, etc." And then, more, almost as an afterthought. "Because these things affect Booth and therefore our partnership."_

_**1. Partners offer personal information to one another. **_

_Today Booth said: "You know, getting information out of live people is a lot different than getting information out of a pile of bones, you have to offer up something of yourself first." Later this same day, Angela__ said something similar: "Offer up a little bit of yourself every once and awhile. Just… tell somebody something you're not completely certain you want them to know."_

On that page were jotted notes and summaries of times that Bones obviously thought this rule needed to be followed, or had been followed. Booth was absurdly touched at the way that she had taken being his partner seriously from the very beginning. It was sweet and his early memories of her were not of sweetness. Sexy, troubled, cutting, defensive, generous, dedicated, but not sweet. He looked over some of the notes, remembered some of the cases, but didn't read everything before flipping to the next page.

_**2. Probably should be a corollary to #1, but partners apparently are required to share things. **__Rides to the airport, french fries, umbrellas. One can refuse to share items or services that are "special" or protected in some way but not too often. I am not certain what constitutes an overage in this regard._

Again, more notes and additions over time. Booth realized that she had headed each new page with a new rule. He was smiling by now. Damn, he loved her.

_**(page) 3. Hugs between partners are acceptable as long as one partner is scared. **_

His smile faded as he read her writing. Brief summaries that recalled desperate times. Her mother dead and her identity in question. A shiver ran up his back as her words, her voice, small and uncertain as he had never heard it, came back to him. "My name is Brennan. I am Dr. Temperance Brennan. I work at the Jeffersonian Institution." And his response. "I know who you are."

And then Russ in danger. A dog put down. A scalpel in her arm. Other times, other hugs.

Early on the page were notes about how she didn't think this was how partnerships usually worked between men, although she wasn't sure. She thought it was possible it was how partnerships between women worked because Angela would certainly hug her if she was scared. Toward the bottom of the page, Bones had noted that she was pretty sure now that this wasn't a rule at all, but something Booth made up to make her feel better.

Smiling again, Booth turned the page.

_**4. If partners solve a case together they do paperwork together. **__I probably should have listed this earlier but I didn't always help Booth with the paperwork at the beginning. I assume that because I have now been involved more directly in the field, my observations and documentation are helpful. _

Yeah, Booth thought, because **that's** why they did paperwork together. He thought back to all those evenings doing paperwork, their first dates really. Times when he could ask her personal questions and, intent on her work, she would sometimes answer. Sometimes, when they finished the work, they would have a drink together or, even more rarely, keep talking a while. Looking back, he was extremely grateful to paperwork.

_**5. Do not act happy at crime scenes. However, partners can celebrate a successful resolution to a case with a drink.**_

He smiled again.

_**6. Partners keep confidences - **__This is a rule I would have expected. What I did not expect was that there were so many nuances and fine distinctions to be made among incidents and contexts. _

She had made notes about the brief period just before he got back with Cam for a while where he and Rebecca were getting it on occasionally. She wrote about the egg and the meatloaf and Hacker. She wrote about recent incidents too: the time that she told Cam that his father died and also when she revealed that Christine was going to be a girl before she told him. Booth couldn't hold back an exasperated sigh even now, but he wasn't really angry anymore. His eye was caught by one of the last entries and he read something that was news to him. Bones had shared with Cam his work at the hospital, with the kids who suffered from neurofibromatosis. Seeing here how she struggled to stay on the right side of the line, another line that **he** had drawn, he found it hard to be upset about this.

_**7. Partners don't keep things from one another. **__As one might expect, it is difficult to reconcile this rule with the previous one. _

A later note read: _Except sometimes to protect each other and only when they would know the other would approve, or maybe even disapprove but would have done the same thing. Like when I went back to my apartment when I knew that a crazy serial killer (Eps) was there to kill me. I wonder what Booth has done and kept from me? Probably much worse._

Still later: _Or like stabbing someone with a syringe in the neck to make him think that he was infected with a deadly genetically engineered virus/bacteria. _

_**8. Partners give each other things.**_

This was the emptiest page so far, but only because the notations were short and included: _Jasper, daffodils on my birthday, coffee in the morning, Brainy Smurf, a Mix Tape (actually a downloadable playlist but Booth insists on calling it a mix tape), a Christmas tree—_

A Christmas tree? Oh. Oh yeah...

—_a vintage Foreigner t-shirt, silver ice skates pendant..._

There were a few more but nothing recent, really nothing listed since they moved in together. He assumed it was because they were no longer pretending that the gifts were about being professional partners in any way, but wasn't entirely sure that Brones knew that.

The next page had a series of statements, written at different times, as struggled to articulate what she saw as a rule. In the progression, Booth could easily identify the backstory behind the changes. It didn't surprise him that she hadn't written very much here either.

_**9. Partners have each other's back. Partners would die for one another. Partners would kill for one another. **_

_Booth has killed to protect me more than once. I have done the same for him. The extent to which these facts bind us together I am not entirely certain of or comfortable with._

_Note: I still don't understand why I can't have a gun. He gives me his extra gun readily enough when he needs back up and that is gratifying, but it would seem logical to have me carry my own. This is an ongoing source of friction between us. _

Booth turned the page, and was surprised to find the 10th rule she listed in the middle of the page, no notes, underlined twice. Her handwriting here was not as neat and regular as usual and the pen had been pressed deeply onto the page.

_**10. Partners always, always, give each other the benefit of the doubt. Partners never believe someone else's judgment concerning his or her partner without evaluating the validity of these claims directly. **_

He thought he knew what this rule was all about. Jared. Jared convincing her that his big brother was a loser. Poor Bones. All those lower stakes (although still incredibly painful) high school and college experiences that teach you about this rule. All the times you dated someone who hated your friends and told you nasty things about them that you believed because she was hot and sweet and...well, your girlfriend. The times you believed someone who wasn't trustworthy but who was charismatic or convincing. Just like he, Jared, and his mom would believe his father when he said that this time, he'd changed. By the end, that belief had been beaten out of them, but for a long long time they had held out hope. Now that he thought of it, it was _his_ fault really that Bones had doubted him. _He _was the one that taught her that evidence wasn't the only way to evaluate claims. _He_ was the one who taught her to trust her gut. For all the times she put him down for it, scoffed at his gut, she craved it. Wanted to be part of that club, wanted that insider knowledge. And he knew that, used it. No, that wasn't totally her fault.

He flipped another page.

_**11. Partners can criticize each other, but if someone else criticizes one's partner, the other must defend or at least back up/support that partner. Especially in partner's therapy, Booth says.**_

Now he grinned. "That's my girl," he muttered under his breath.

_**12. Partners may laugh at one another. Also sometimes partners have to apologize.**_

Booth could see that she had written more here about some of the times when this rule seemed relevant to her. He loved seeing how her mind worked, what stuck in her memory. It was easy to forget that she had a truly terrifying memory, so smoothly was her recall of facts and names and places and language embedded in the way she worked through problems. The number of times that he and others were quoted directly in her notebook brought this fact home starkly.

_**13. Booth and I—the partners—are the center, but it takes the team, every one, to do the really hard things.**_

At the bottom of the page of notes, she had concluded with "_I do not think that Booth and I are the center because we are the partners, but rather we are partners because we are the center. It is because we can do what we do, and do it better together than apart, that we are partners. _

On the next page, number 14. It turns out this entry is only a few days old. When Booth starts reading, he realizes that she added this after he insisted she go to lunch with him.

_**14. The Partner Card: Partners can insist on acting without a reason or explanation, can insist on the partner following the unclear and unexplained dictates. **__I don't know. I am almost certain this is made up. And yet, I can see it makes a certain sense. It's like saying "Trust me". And, after all we have been through, both good and bad, things that support my trust in him and things that erode it, I find that I still do trust him._

That's where the list ended. On the page facing #14, Bones had stuck a large sticky note. "_Re: the center. The center is still the center even when not acting in coordination or in shared purpose. The outcome is more uncertain, but if one can assume the initial hypothesis that both partners are trustworthy then the conclusion of any conditional statements that follow this hypothesis should also be true. _

Later, she had added one more line._ Similarly, with the same initial hypothesis, the conclusion is still true even if one partner is not just uncommunicative, but is actively dissembling. _

Booth wasn't totally sure what all of this meant, but he got the gist of it. She trusted him still, which since he broke their engagement, he wasn't sure of. Strangely, he suspected that it was his need of her last weekend that inspired a renewal of this trust. Booth knew this intellectually, as well as empirically, although he'd rather eat tofurky than admit to Bones he used the word _empirically_ even in the privacy of his own head. _Anyway_, he knew that the best way to inspire trust was to trust someone first, but it still surprised him when it was true.

She trusted him, even when he didn't tell her his reasons for doing something. She trusted him even when she thought he was _dissembling_..._lying_, right?

Bones had figured it out. He wondered what else she had figured out. He rose suddenly, certain he couldn't sit still another minute, thinking that he needed to run more than he needed the contemplation to be found at mass. He knew that something had changed and the anticipation and desire to _act_ was riding him.

Booth turned to leave, flipping the book closed but then out of habit, flipped through the rest of the book to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Tucked firmly into the back pages of the book was a piece of paper that did not look like it had been disturbed in a long time. Booth didn't disturb it now, simply opened the book wide enough that he could see what was written on it.

It was a small part of a printed piece of paper, a page from a book, in fact. It looked like...yeah, there was a reference to Andy Lister...a part of one of her books. Most of the piece that was in the notebook was the upper margin and top paragraph of a page from one of her books. Bones familiar handwriting filled almost all of the white space. The handwriting was bold but clearly rushed and the paper was dirty. In the upper left hand corner was the date. 11/15/06. A little over a year after they started working together, but Booth didn't need help to remember what they were doing on that day. That was the day the Heather Taffett buried her and Hodgins in that godforsaken quarry. Without pausing to think, he read what she had written.

"Booth, if you are reading this, I am dead and you have found us here where we are buried. Hodgins is writing to Angela to tell her he loves her but in the event that his note is lost or destroyed and mine is found, please tell Angela that Hodgins loves her. And me. I love her too. I don't know if I love you, the way that Hodgins loves Angela, but I have never felt as much for another human being since my parents left as I do for you. I have never trusted anyone like I trust you. No one's opinion of me has ever mattered, or mattered more. If I did love anyone, I would want it to be you."

She had signed it, simply: _Bones_.

* * *

A/N: I love books where the chapters titles are like the one I wrote here. Not really all that related to the Arabian Nights but certainly in the grand tradition of storytelling. I hope you liked this chapter. I kind of loved everything that it brought up for me, everything and every way it reminded me of B&B. I wrote it sometime between chapters 2 and 3. Thank you to all my Twitter People who helped by answering the question "If Brennan wrote a list of Rules for Partners based on her work with Booth, what would they be?". Specifically: jazzyproz, aidaaiya8, SammieAtHome, mspteach, sharon_m745, TMKearney, Dharmamonkey, Hpaich. And thank you to everyone who is reading. The response to this story has been incredible. Thank you all for your suggestions. I have saved them all in a New Stories file and will see what I can do. Best, 3sq


	10. Chapter 10: Into the Mancave

Booth went down to the mancave and booted up the little computer. It wasn't connected to the internet. In fact, it's only purpose was to record footage from the video inputs Max had helped him install. He watched himself toss his clothes in the direction of the hamper and go to take a shower and then a grainy Bones entered their room. The sound quality was better than the video.

"Christopher. I am ready to play a game with you." She spoke, it seemed, to no one, to the room, to the universe.

The phone in her hand rang.

"Hello?" Her voice was dispassionate. The next part of their conversation made very little sense to Booth but he listened intently.

"Yes, it took me longer than I would have thought also."

"In all fairness, if you consider that four essential components of a game are a goal, obstacles to that goal, a feedback system, and voluntary participation, the fact that you did not provide me with the goal slowed me down considerably."

"Yes, I suppose one could consider dead bodies feedback, although I object to your definition of voluntary."

"Yes. I am currently volunteering. To play a game that I designed."

"With you, yes."

"Yes, I designed it with you in mind."

"I hope so."

"The game will take place at the Jeffersonian. You may choose the time but it must be today and I must be able to get there before you, for reasons that will become clear when I tell you the goal. I will place a number of obstacles in your path and there will be feedback on how well you are doing in the game. And, of course, it will be voluntary, assuming you take up my challenge."

"The goal is to find the treasure. To be precise, to reach the treasure."

Booth felt sick as he heard those words. He knew, knew what she was going to say next.

"The treasure is me."

"I will expect to see you in 45 minutes then. The game begins when you enter the main doors of the lab."

* * *

A/N: I know it is short, but it's to set the stage and there will be more this weekend! 3sq 6/7/13


	11. Chapter 11: The Queen

Dr. Temperance Joy Keenan Brennan stood on the forensic platform. She had swiped her key card to get there and had felt the surge of ownership and accomplishment that often came when the trill of the alarms releasing sounded. Knowing she would be there before Pelant, but not how long he would keep her waiting, she had left the box of teaching bones on the platform. She didn't want to expose actual human remains to the risk that Pelant represented but she was glad enough to occupy herself with reassembling the well worn simulacrum.

The doors whooshed open and she straightened and turned. His face showed the trauma of the gunshot wound but otherwise, Christopher Pelant looked well fed and healthy. He wore jeans and boots, a tee shirt and a rough cotton jacket, messenger bag crossed over his shoulder. Zach had been right. Questing garb, he called it. The messenger bag, the modern day equivalent to a satchel holding oatcakes, a flask, a cloak, a flint, and an amulet or scroll. All he needed was an enchanted broadsword to be the puckish kitchen boy with the destiny of a king.

"Temperance." He smiled at her and spread his hands wide. "Now that you have me here. What are you going to do with me?"

She turned to face him fully and spread her own hands to show that she was unarmed. His eyes, alight with mischief but nevertheless wary, snuck darting looks around the cavernous room, dimly lit around the edges but bright enough on the platform and surrounding area. He was rightly nervous that this was a trap.

He raised his voice, "I won't offend you by warning you against trying to calling the authorities. You will understand that I have taken steps to keep you, or rather anyone who would prevent you from playing this game with me, from doing such a thing. If I do not leave this building alive, well..." His grin got wider. "let's just say I do not think you would be pleased with the results. If what I wanted was to kill you, though, I could have done that anytime." He waited and Brennan did not disappoint.

"Yes, you could have." She nodded slightly. She knew he wanted her to elaborate, to share what she had learned about him. But the desire for acclaim, for recognition of his accomplishments, was not actually his main goal, and she didn't see any reason to indulge him in a secondary one. "Are you ready?"

He looked steadily at her, his grin gone but a small smile still playing around his lips. His arms and hands were loose at his sides, as he imagined a gunslinger's would be, and he took the time, finally, to survey the room, sweeping his eyes across the offices on the ground floor, the balcony above. Not seeing anything amiss, he said, "Absolutely. I am ready."

And stiffened as a number of people moved into his field of vision. They had been somewhere-offices or conference rooms, bathrooms or closets-but to him it must have seemed that they just appeared, moving into the better lit central area of the space. His face shot to hers, angry, and his hand hovered over his messenger bag. Brennan was still calm, however, and she held up her hand to caution patience. Now she raised her voice, so everyone could hear her.

"These people are part of the game. They are not here to hurt you. Just as I am the prize, because reaching me is the goal, I could not also be the obstacle. These people are pawns, and have volunteered to test you as you attempt to achieve your goal. Honestly, I thought you would think it was fitting that you get to test yourself against people you have made your adversaries-"

The figures had stopped in a rough half circle around him, still some distance away from him but not so far away that he couldn't see who they were. Jack Hodgins. Caroline Jullian. Lance Sweets. Camille Saroyan.

"-Angela couldn't be here, so standing in for her is Wendell Bray." Wendell stepped forward into the light.

"And them?" Pelant challenged aggressively, pointing upward where seven more people revealed themselves, standing together on the balcony. Clark Edison, Colin Fisher, Arastoo Vasiri, Daisy Wick, Sam Cullen, Charlie Burns, Genny Shaw

"Part of the feedback system. The best games let the players know in a number of ways how they are doing. To provide you with this information, I have installed a timer." A large digital timer glowed to life on the far wall, a bright red beacon, "as well as an audience, who will applaud if you successfully master the tests put to you. And I have to admit, the idea of having someone bear witness to this game is satisfying to me as its creator."

Pelant wasn't smiling anymore, but he had relaxed when people didn't come any closer.

"Where is your father?"

"With Christine." Her voice was cold now. "Safe."

He just smiled. They were _never_ as safe as they thought.

Brennan continued.

"The goal is simple: to reach me, here on the platform. To get here you have to pass a series of tests, or rather, the same test over and over."

Intrigued despite himself, Pelant cocked his head to the side slightly, hands twitching as if to hold a controller, to tap a keyboard. "Go on."

"May I have Dr. Hodgins approach?" Pelant jerked his head around to the right where Hodgins stood at one end of the rough arc. Hodgins held his hands wide to show he was unarmed but his face was mocking and feral. He was not pretending, not even to the extent Brennan was.

Pelant considered. Any one of them, or rather someone who hadn't shown his or herself, could have shot him at any time. The biggest physical threat wasn't present. He knew exactly where Booth was. Before entering the Jeffersonian, Pelant had seen him with his own eyes, in their house, watching a game on T.V.. Plus he wasn't joking. If he didn't walk out of here alive, they would be sorry. He was certain they believed that.

"Go on." He demanded.

Hodgins turned and wheeled a large table over to Pelant. Pelant recognized the top of the line computer setup, and Brennan narrated. "A game will provide the player with tools to enhance his abilities. You will be allowed the use of a computer and your intellect for this game. The test is simple."

Hodgins moved away from the computer. He was carrying a small briefcase. A movement in his field of vision had Pelant looking to see the rest of the pawns all picking up their own briefcases. He watched warily as they moved to stand in a line between him and Brennan.

"Each briefcase is locked. Each person was asked to choose a word representing what being part of this team means to them and have locked the briefcase with that word. Since you have pitted yourself against us as a team, as well as individually, and since you have used your knowledge of things we thought were private against us time and time again, I would like to see if you know us as well as you think you do." For the first time, emotion colored Brennan's voice and her eyes sparked haughtily from where she stood above him.

She continued. "All you have to do-" Hodgins raised and turned the briefcase so he could see the electronic lock glowing green, "-is find the password and open the briefcase." He flicked his eyes to the computer, and Brennan added, "Angela assures me that very likely you can devise a system or configure your computer to find the passwords, but not in ten minutes. " She reached across to her computer and the glowing red letters of the digital timer set to 10:00. "Especially since we have installed a different locking device on each briefcase."

"What happens if I can't find the password and open the lock?"

"Surprisingly, I find myself hoping you can. Because the last briefcase, of course, is mine." She pointed to where a small briefcase sat on the floor by her feet. "There is a way for you to earn extra tries. Inside each briefcase, I have placed a slip of paper bearing a single word. This word represents what _I_ think this person''s role on the team is. The team members do not know what I wrote there."

And, in fact, several heads had swiveled in surprise at her statement, but Brennan continued. "If you can guess what is written on the inside of the briefcase, what I think this person's role on the team is, before the lock is open, you will earn an extra try at any given briefcase. You must open four out of five to get to advance to the final stage, to attempt the prize."

"What about the first one? If I fail at the first one, I won't have any extra lives saved up." Brennan smiled at this small sign of gamer culture.

"To start the game, you may guess at the words inside the briefcases of the five pawns. The number correct will equal your number of extra tries."

"How long do I have to come up with my answer?"

"Ten minutes." He looked at the six players arrayed before him. Rather than look like a defensive shield, which they were after all, instead they looked like...troops. Deployed by the queen. But that is how he saw her, he had to admit. The piece he had been playing for-against-all along.

"Where is Agent Booth?" He ventured, mockingly, playing for time and hoping to rattle her.

In a bland tone, she stated, "He has seen fit to not inform me of some of his decisions. I did not inform him of mine. As I think you know, and I suspect you have used to your recent advantage, he would protect me at all costs. The chances of him allowing me to play this game with you unimpeded were slim. And," she allowed her face to reveal a small amount of the real emotion she felt, "I would protect him, as well."

"He won't thank you for it."

"No, I never thought he would." Clearly done talking about Booth, Brennan asked him again. "So do you accept the terms of the game?"

"Wait, what do I get if I win?"

Her voice, cool and patient, asked, "What do you want?"

"You don't know?" He sneered. "How are you going to convince me to play, without knowing what I want?"

"I do know."

"Well then. What do I get if I win?"

And now Brennan looked at him with the full weight of knowledge and conviction behind her steady blue gaze. For the first time, Pelant felt the smallest of doubts that he would win. And he reveled in it. Finally, a worthy adversary.

"Another game."

For long minutes he held her gaze and then without breaking it, said, "What do you get if I lose?"

"Your surrender to Director Cullen, and the end of any game you have currently in play...that means any threats made to anyone and any imminent danger you pose to any living being."

"Too much."

Brennan thought for a minute. "Then the latter. I too, am willing to play for another game. Do you agree to these terms?"

Pelant took his time, his gaze sweeping the room, his eyes meeting those of the pawns. His smile never wavered. His arrogance, his ability to show tranquility, even glee, to his adversaries, was part of the game and part of the fun. "I do."

"Are you ready to begin?"

"Let the game begin."

* * *

A/N: Ahhhh! I never written like this before! Hope I'm doing okay. More to come. 3sq


	12. Chapter 12: Mixed Metaphors

Brennan reached over and hit the "set" button on the timer. 10:00 flashed once and then began to count down. Pelant moved to the computer which was of course, not connected to the outside world or to the internet in any way. It contained a copy of the OED and an exhaustive thesaurus, as well as graphing and mapping programs, should he want to explore connections that way. Instead, Pelant booted up Word and started typing. He typed for five minutes, stopping and starting, intensely focused and seemingly unaware of those around him.

Those around him, for their part, tried to stay still but it was truly surreal, this sunny Sunday afternoon, to find themselves arrayed in the cool sterile air of the Jeffersonian watching this most hated man type on a computer. Hodgins felt the rush of rage and fear and protection clawing to get out of his chest. The desire to finish what he started so many months ago and choke the life out Pelant was hard to ignore. But however uncomfortable they might have been, no one spoke or whispered. They just watched.

Finally, after 6 minutes and 34 seconds, Pelant pushed back his chair and stood up. "Let me be clear, Temperance." Brennan didn't respond to his words but just watched, waiting. "I guess five words, words that represent what _you_ think these," he gestured toward Cam, Caroline, Sweets, Hodgins, and Wendell, "people, these _pawns_, mean to your team of _crack forensic crime solvers_." The sarcasm and scorn were heavy in his voice.

"That is correct, yes."

"And if I guess all five correctly, I have five extra lives, extra chances, to crack the passwords on the suitcases."

"That is also correct."

"And I have ten minutes to do it."

"Yes."

"May I guess again at some point in the game, if I am wrong?"

"Yes, after you attempt each person's password, if you achieve it, you may guess at the word contained therein. That will be your final opportunity."

"And not that I don't trust your sincerity," again, the mocking smile stretching the glossy red strands of the badly healed ruined face, "but you guarantee my safety during the game, right? I mean, Dr. Hodgins is looking positively _murderous_ right now. I haven't done anything to him _lately_, and I have to admit, I am a little worried about him."

"Your safety is guaranteed for the duration of this game." She spared a glance for Hodgins, warning in her eyes, in her raised brows and tight mouth. He nodded shortly, angrily. Keeping her gaze on Hodgins, she added. "If anyone here attacks you physically during the guessing rounds, you may advance directly to the treasure."

"Good. That's cleared up then." Pelant rubbed his hands together. "Well, then, to my guesses. My guesses are, for Dr. Saroyan: Booth-Stealing-Slutty-Bitch."

Cam's eyes widened in surprise and there was a gasp from the witnesses-perhaps Daisy-but Brennan didn't react at all. Pelant continued, cheerfully, the venomous words tripping from his lips easily.

"For Dr. Hodgins: Sub Genius Scientist Suck Up. For Ms. Julian: Government Flunky. For Dr. Sweets...and sorry to be repetitive...Superfluous Bad Scientist Suck Up. For Ms. Montenegro: Humanity."

Brennan was still but her eyes were alert with inquiry and curiosity. He had surprised her and she was considering what he said, why he said it. Why throw away four chances for extra tries?

"You are correct in what I wrote on Angela Montenegro's slip of paper: _humanity_ is the word I chose. You have one extra life." She didn't hesitate to move on to the next part of the game. "And now you have another 10 minutes to guess the password on Dr. Hodgins suitcase."

Hodgins stepped forward and, getting no closer than absolutely necessary, placed his suitcase on the edge of the table closest to him and walked away quickly, taking his place next to Wendell. Brennan's fingers flicked over the keyboard and the countdown reset. She glanced over at the rest of the team and they all took this as a sign to sit down. Hodgins alone remained standing. The countdown started again as Pelant started typing, searching through words, and thumbing them into the lock's password keypad, searching for the answer. Through this all, he kept up a droning monologue. Relentlessly bitter and biting both, it was nevertheless better than the tense silence of the last search.

"_Let's see...I'll get some of the obvious answers out of the way...skeptic skeptical skepticism and paranoid and paranoia and conspiracy although that isn't really a role but maybe Dr. Hodgins is dumb about grammar_. _It's funny that I actually know the least personal information about Hodgins. Of all of the people here, he has protected personal information best, mostly by not sharing it, not writing many personal emails or keeping a blog when he travelled as a teenager or filling out detailed profiles of likes and dislikes on social media sites. I have read all about your political activity-"_ A quick glance over at Hodgins. Malicious black eyes meeting furious blue ones. "_If this were an epic quest, you would never be more than a hanger on, Doctor Hodgins. At best you'd be one of the alchemists helping the lead magician, or if you were on the quest, you'd be the redshirt, the guy they send to investigate the sound that seems out of place in the night. You'd be the girlish scream in the dark suddenly cut off by a knife to the throat. Oh, the hero would avenge you, not even man enough to protect himself, never mind to be a real asset to the group. So let's see...bugs, bugguy, how the hell do you spell entomologist. Oh yeah that's it, but not it. How would you see yourself? _ _Insight analysis scientist..._"

Hodgins stood rigid, listening as Pelant mocked and tried passwords. "_You were a loose canon, angry and at times unmanageable, unquestionably brilliant but your anger at the world was palpable and affected your relationship with coworkers."_ This last was said in the shape of a quotation and Hodgins recognized words from a long ago work work evaluation written by Daniel Goodman. Brennan was right. Pelant had read _anything_ he could find on them.

"_Cannon. Vengeance. Science, conviction, experimenter, explorer, evidence, career, job, vocation. Purpose. Ahhhhh."_ Pelant's sigh of satisfaction was almost a moan. With only one minute left he must have been getting a little worried. He looked Hodgins full in the face. "Purpose." Expecting more taunting, Hodgins was surprised when the other man said, "I can see that. Now that is ironic, to find something so essential in common with the team member I least identify with. We both crave purpose don't we?" He looked like he might say more, but thought better of it, turning his head to meet Brennan's gaze from where she stood in judgment.

"How'd I do?" Pelant grinned. "C'mon, you can tell me. I did good, right?"

She held up a hand in signal and the "spectators", witnesses really, clapped dutifully.

"Do you have a guess for what is inside the briefcase? The word I chose to represent Hodgins' value to the team?"

Pelant didn't hesitate. "Rebel."

Neither did Brennan. "Conscience."

Hodgins eyes glittered in the indirect light of the lab, his eyes snapping to Brennan in surprise. She didn't tell them what she was putting in the suitcases. He realized that he hadn't thought she was putting anything in them. He was curious, though and she must have been able to tell.

It was just the two of them for a minute as Brennan told her story, uncharacteristically hesitant and searching for words. "It is just that you were always so strident, so angry, and you were a _scientist_ and yet you believed and put your intellect toward uncovering conspiracies. That first fact, my first knowledge of you...obscured what I have found, over time, to be much more...reliable...indicators of your place in the team. You act on what you think is right and despite being a truly outstanding scientist," Hodgins felt the smile form helplessly on his lips at her praise, "you never seem to forget what matters is the real person or people or ideals that our science is working on behalf of. _You_ were the one who insisted, despite knowing you would be ridiculed or possibly even jailed, that we try to create a remedy for Arastoo from folk medicine. _You_ were the one who stole evidence from the gravedigger to find her, to keep looking. I'm not sure that conscience is exactly the right word, but it is a way of saying that you use science to keep us from forgetting what we are using science to accomplish." And now _Brennan_ looked surprised, at how much she had said, perhaps.

And Hodgins pressed his lips together and swallowed, emotion making his eyes bright and wet. He nodded and without a glance for Pelant, took his seat, crossing his legs and leaning back, ready to watch what happens next.

Pelant looked at Brennan, expecting something more from her perhaps. But she just reset the timer and turned to Cam. "Ready?"

Cam nodded shortly and rose, bringing the case to Pelant. The red numbers of the timer flashed and began their descent.

* * *

Things started to change when three pieces of information came together for Brennan. First, Booth's contradictory behavior, breaking their engagement but then simultaneously being absolutely steadfast and normal in their romantic relationship as well as reaching out to her through storytelling in such a eager and proactive way. Second, Angela's discovery that Pelant had likely been trying to kidnap or otherwise release Brennan from jail had he managed to get her arrested. And finally, Brennan's own shift in her line of questioning from the usually more fruitful _**how**_ Pelant was doing what he was doing (listening and watching them in the most unlikely places and times, killing and posing people in bizarre and horrific ways, stealing Hodgins' money, to name just a few) to a question with which she was _much _less comfortable: _**why**_ he was doing what he was doing. Motive, as Booth put it once, really wasn't her thing. That said, they had been proceeding on the assumption of a sort of general criminal megalomania...a craving for power of a previously helpless individual, the desire to play god. Several times, team members had mentioned feeling like Pelant was playing with them.

Brennan still visited Zach in the facility in which he lived. He had, in his time there, become even more of a game player than he had been previously, spending hours on advanced RPGs, as well as math games such as Bridge Builder or Topology Tower. The idea that Pelant was _playing_ with them kept returning to Brennan, and Booth had taught her to watch for patterns, to never dismiss coincidences. Ultimately, it was impossible to dismiss the idea that this was a game to Pelant. And finally, she realized that Pelant wasn't playing with them.

He _wanted _to play with them_. _Specifically, with **her**.

That was it. Pelant's crimes had been designed to engage her. Even whatever it was that he had done to make Booth break their engagement (for she had no doubt of that now...well, only the tiniest doubt) had been done to hurt her, to prod her into reacting. Into playing. He was not only a villain. He was a _gamer_.

Brennan went to see Zach, bringing the profile and her suspicion. He confirmed her hypothesis in multiple instances and helped her decide how best to use the information to draw him out. A game, of course. With this revelation, other things started to fall into place. Instead of feeling that Pelant was omnipotent and watching everyone all of the time, they concentrated on the ways that he would be watching Brennan...her office, her home, her running paths, her favorite places in the park, one of which she notably chose to propose to Booth. With this information, Angela and a former computer hacker colleague/gamer friend of Zach's were able to tease the electronic threads of information back to Pelant's lair.

Finally, by Friday, they knew where he was, both virtually and physically, but had to acknowledge that to try to reach him in his own place was too risky. Who knew how many more defensive measures he had in place than the ones they knew about? They couldn't know enough about his safeguards and protections; they couldn't undo his undoubtedly deadly failsafes without the kind of direct access that would alert him immediately to their presence.

Angela needed time.


	13. Chapter 13: The Game Afoot

"_First and foremost, we crave satisfying work, every single day...Second we crave the experience, or at least the hope, of being successful...Third, we crave social connections...Fourth and finally, we crave meaning, or the chance to be a part of something larger than ourselves...These four kinds of intrinsic rewards are the foundation for optimal human experience." From Jane MacGonigal's "Reality is Broken", a compelling 2011 research-based book on the power and purpose of gaming._

* * *

Over the next hour, Pelant guessed all three of the next passwords...Cam, Sweets, and Caroline. He had obviously found many sources of information on the Jeffersonian team: many of them in their own hand, and most of them protected by passwords, aliases, format, and layers of disassociation; none of this was enough to stop Pelant from reaching them.

It turned out that Cam had several aliases on the internet she used as she navigated the world of her favorite TV shows and romances. She read fanfiction in addition to mainstream romance and Chick-Lit. It would have been less unsettling if Pelant had mocked her mercilessly for her defense of escapist literature, of romantic and erotic fantasy's place in the tradition of archetypes and mythic symbols. Instead, the dark drone of his voice drew parallels between them, Cam and Christopher. Both deeply rooted and motivated by the symbols of the more primal world beneath the hollow, soulless modern one they lived in. By the time eight minutes had passed, Cam looked visibly shaken. Pelant's head shot up at a movement from the balcony. Arastoo stalked gracefully along the catwalk, lightly descending the stairs, seemingly unaware that they all watched him. His features, as they came into focus for those standing near the center of the drama, were composed and almost peaceful, a tiny smile growing as his eyes sought Cam's. He reached for her, leaned in to kiss her cheek and whisper something in her ear. Cam's eyes brightened and her lips pressed together in a watery smile as she leaned momentarily against his shoulder.

The moment was over as quickly as it had begun and both Cam and Arastoo straightened, standing side by side to face Pelant. Cam cleared her throat and murmured confidently, "So, do you know my password, or do we have to listen to this drivel for another..." Her eyes flicked to the clock. "1 minute and 12 seconds?"

Pelant didn't say a word, but stared at them, his face inscrutable, until the clock chimed time.

At Brennan's movement in his peripheral vision, he snorted softly, mockingly, at Cam and Arastoo before turning to his opponent. "Her password is _fulfillment_." He waited only an instant before demanding aggressively, "_Isn't it_, Dr. Brennan?" The observers wondered if perhaps Cam and Arastoo had gotten to him by undermining his control of the game in the last few minutes. Brennan seemed undisturbed and spoke her confirmation calmly, raising her hand again for applause.

"Do you have a guess for the word I used to describe Cam's role on this team?"

Pelant stayed silent for long minutes, his eyes intent on Brennan's. Was he dragging this out as a tactic, as a way to increase tension or to reassert control, as a plan to influence Brennan? Neither of them looked away, but finally Brennan said. "I need your answer."

Still holding Brennan's eyes, Pelant guessed. "Authority."

All eyes were on Brennan now, waiting to know the answer. Brennan turned her face to Cam and smiled gently, the most emotion she had shown since the game had started. "Mediator." Cam smiled a little back at her. "You had a lot of names for it, through the years, didn't you, Cam? Herding cats? Teaching Kindergarden? When you first came, I didn't understand your use, your purpose. But if not for you, I would have died under the earth. I don't think I would still be buried there...you would have found us by now, but the only reason Hodgins and I were found in time was because you were able to direct the minds and energies of the team toward decoding our text message, which, looking back on it, seems the paltriest of clues." She paused and glanced at Pelant as if testing his patience with such a sentimental interlude. He grinned and held his hands wide. "Oh please continue, Dr. Brennan, there are necessarily gaps in the information I have had available to me. I assure you, I like a good story as well as anyone."

Brennan continued to address Cam. "I know you to be as arrogant as the rest of us when it comes to what you do well and yet, your ability to put that arrogance aside to aid us in our shared purpose is remarkable. And, well, I am grateful for it and have had reason to be grateful for it many times in the past." Without speaking further or waiting for a response from Cam, she reset the clock and turned toward Pelant.

Sweets. Sweet's turn reminded everyone that Pelant was a genius. He abandoned all pretense of typing, of brainstorming, or searching for a password. He obviously had his guess, or guesses, ready and in the end didn't bother trying any of them until there was just one minute on the timer. And then, he guessed it on the first try. Belonging.

Before that, however, he raised his mocking commentary of Hodgins to a new level. Leaning back in the chair he had been given, feet crossed in front of him on the table, he delivered a scathing invective that was all the more chillingly hateful for the measured, the almost cheerful delivery. Pelant quoted word for word from Sweets' book, from his not so private notes and personal reflections on Brennan and Booth. He divided his time between this and his own withering conclusions about Sweets' over identification with the pair, about Sweets secret love for Brennan. He mused that perhaps Sweets also harbored a secret love for Booth. The only blessing was that in nine minutes, he didn't have time to turn his attention and bile to others of the group. Throughout it all, Sweets stood, remarkably composed, not even flushing. At nine minutes, Pelant ceased speaking and raised his brows at Sweets in question.

"That's all you've got?" Sweet's voice was a welcome relief to everyone watching.

"Belonging. _That's_ what this team means to you." Pelant looked like he might say more, but in the end, didn't, glancing at Brennan.

"That is correct." Again, she reset the timer, and again, the audience applauded. "Do you have a guess for the word contained within the case?"

Pelant's eyes sparkled. "I know how you feel about psychology, Dr. Brennan. I guess that you believe that _Doctor_ Sweets' role on this team is _Superfluous_**." **Brennan _did_ look surprised at this. Sweets supposed that she had probably said as much, or worse, at some point in their history. Hell, she probably said it to his face.

Brennan seemed to brace herself, taking a deep breath and stating openly, almost aggressively. "The word I chose was Confessor." She turned back to the timer.

"Ah, ah, ah, Dr. Brennan. Not so fast." Pelant let his feet drop down to the floor and motioned to her with his hand. "Give. What's the story here?"

Brennan's voice revealed truculence. Everyone who knew her, knew this tone of voice. It meant she was digging in her heels. "I do not believe I said anything about indulging you in my private thoughts. I have been moved to speak before this, but I do not choose to now. Shall we continue?"

"No, we SHALL NOT!" Pelant's voice was a shout in the laboratory, shocking in its suddenness and demand. "Temperance, I am playing your game, but I don't have to. I can just walk out of here now, continue with my own games. I am enjoying myself, and want you to tell _me_ stories for a change." This last was directed solely to Brennan and indeed, no one else seemed to understand what he meant by this. The only other person who would have understood, wasn't available for comment.

Her jaw set and eyes were cold, but after a long minute, she turned toward Sweets. Her words seemed to pick up mid-sentence, as if continuing a prior conversation. "Even I have told you things, although not because I thought it would be the slightest bit useful, but for whatever reason, others seem to confide in you. Booth tells you things. You may not think that he tells you enough, or much, or what you want him to tell you, but he does tell you things. Things about Parker, and about me, through the years. I know that he told you how he felt about me at various points in our partnership. Caroline, Hodgins, Cam, Angela...they all told me that they have told you things and received some relief from their worry, or they perceived, surprisingly, that they had done _you_ some good, which Angela felt was really the same thing. I don't really understand all of what she said. I almost used the word "mystery" for your role on the team, because it is mysterious but undeniable that your theories, and they are rarely even well founded theories —" Brennan held up a hand to forestall his indignant interruption, so surprisingly reassuring in its predictability that she almost smiled, "—at least the way I would consider a theory well-founded...nevertheless your theories have contributed to the success of this team, on a number of occasions. I do not know where your insight comes from but it is often valid. That you act as a confessor for the members of this team, if not why, seems undeniable. Satisfied?"

It took Sweets a minute to realize that her question was directed to Pelant. And now, the applause came from Pelant. "Yes, very. I think I shall spare you one more night, Princess." He clapped one last time, sighing and pulling up to the computer. "Well, let's get going. There is that point in every game where you just need to slog through the waves of drones or orcs, the mid-level puzzles, to get to the really good stuff. Where were we? Oh yes, Caroline Julian." He gestured arrogantly and received Caroline's briefcase for his trouble

He looked up at Brennan. With a press of a button, the countdown began again. Caroline shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat. Pelant looked up at her inquiringly. "Ms. Julian, you have something to say?"

"Sorry, Cherie," she shot a look of apology toward Brennan, "I don't follow rules well. I used a two word password. I just crammed the little letters together to make one word." Her face contorted in distaste and helpless resignation as she looked at Pelant. "This little weasel just brings out the worst in me. A spirit of contrariness and irrepressible irritation overcame me when I was punching in the password."

Brennan looked at Pelant. "Do you object to guessing her password?"

Pelant thought about it a minute. "No, I don't think I do. I think she has made it easier, actually. I can discard sycophant, adulator, backscratcher, backslapper, bootlicker, brownnoser, doormat, fan, fawner, flatterer, flunky, groupie, groveler, handshaker, hanger-on, lackey, minion, parasite, politician, puppet, and slave. I think, Ms. Julian, that...You. Think. You. Are. _Funny_."

Her face, so frustratingly blank during a trial, showed every bit of her anger and frustration, even a little bit of insecurity, her fear that she had made it easier for him, had let the team down.

Pelant smiled at her, thrilled. "I think you are the _comic relief_ here." The look on her face told him that he had guessed right before he thumbed the letters in.

Time reset. Applause. Brennan's question.

Pelant said, "Now this is harder. What purpose does Dr. Brennan think Ms. Julian plays in the group?

* * *

Angela had been able to set up monitors in Bone Storage that tapped into Pelant's monitors that they knew about. There was, of course, the risk that there were others they had not discovered. They were all betting that Limbo was safe, but they did not assume that about any other place.

For this reason, they had been careful to avoid meeting in groups, or to do anything out of the ordinary. Even Brennan's visit with Zach was on the usual time and day. And Brennan hadn't shared a lot of her thinking, in any case, so there was no need to risk meeting. When absolutely necessary, Brennan and Angela met in Limbo to share information and plans. And in fact, it was in Limbo that one by one, the Pawns in the game programmed their passwords. Brennan had a master list of course. And when they were done, she wrote the words that she had chosen to represent them inside the suitcases and locked them behind the chosen passwords.

The one thing that Brennan had communicated to everyone is that each of them should consider what the digital world would have told Pelant about themselves. What were the stories that years of electronic communication would tell about them? They had some reason to think that Pelant hadn't been able to hack into their actual hard drives, as they had Sweets, but they should consider such sources as Angela's blog from Paris; Cam's essay to Johns Hopkins on behalf of Michelle as well as her participation in a Goodreads Romance Novel Bookclub; Caroline's emails to her sister and brothers in Baton Rouge; Sweets' comments on a string of Music and gaming websites. Not to mention all of the professional articles and websites and wikis to which they had contributed. They wanted him to be able to guess their passwords, but were told explicitly _not_ to try to anticipate what he would guess. Predicting Pelant was unlikely. _He _was going to be predicting _them_; so being themselves, in the most general, fundamental, and genuine "themness" was their job. Similarly, once they were all in the same room together with Pelant, they were all to react as they would. They should anticipate Pelant getting to them, angering and needling them. Brennan was counting on it, her most of all. Social connection and a role in a story bigger than himself. That was the lure.

What happened once the trap was sprung, though? With Brennan, at the very least—maybe all of them—right in the center of that trap with Pelant.

* * *

Zach sat in the library and considered Dr. Brennan's plan. Exhaustively plotted and engineered to a particular point, but left completely and unnervingly open and unpredictable past that point. The plan resembled, and indeed took into account, chaos theory as well as game theory, acknowledging that trying to predict outcomes within complex systems beyond a certain divergent point, was useless. Worse than useless; it was hubristic and dangerous to believe such predictions were true.

The gamer in him had enjoyed sifting through the characters in the role play they designed, identifying their archetypes. The Confessor, the Mediator, Humanity, Justice, Purpose. He was also pleased with the random variables they had introduced, and as a member of this team, he was enjoying the irony that the Rogue Element had turned out to be Booth. Pelant himself had set him free, cut him off from Brennan and the others, isolating him as a punishment, presumably. The man whose sense of purpose and justice had made him the perfect leader and member of the team—decisive and responsive both, able to rely upon disparate elements to help him make right choices—was now on his own, and likely to have to make decisions that he had always deferred to others. _The sniper doesn't make the call._ Zach had heard him say it more than once.

Zach didn't know if Booth was capable of acting outside of the bounds within which he had lived for over forty years, but Dr. Brennan seemed confident. Zach was looking forward to hearing her detailed account of today, assuming Pelant didn't win which was, unfortunately, still a possibility although not a likelihood, according to Zach's calculations. Not for the first time, Zach wished he was back in his apartment over Hodgins' garage, or better, in the lab, where perhaps he could be of some use.

* * *

Angela checked the caller ID, and moved away from the team crawling over Pelant's Desktop of Doom. "Booth?"

"Ange. I can't get into the Jeffersonian. My keycard doesn't work. Do you know anything about that?"

"I do Booth. I've got the place locked down. The only way to sever Pelant's communications was to shut down everyone's. Believe me, they are all safer this—"

"Yeah, but I can't get _in_. I need to get in."

"Booth, I'm working on disabling Pelant's safeguards and Brennan is giving me time to do that. That's all I know. I can't let you through without risk to her and the others. I'm _sorry_."

But she was talking to air. Booth had already hung up.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so this is very interesting, it is. But I really really prefer it when Booth and Brennan are TOGETHER. In the field, in the lab, in the interrogation room, in the showdown with the evil villain, in bed (of course), and in the chapter! I don't like it when they aren't. I thought I would just move quickly through the game, glossing over the details, but it is pretty interesting and you all seemed to be enjoying it so. I still hope I'm doing it right! But that said, I am registering my displeasure with my own work. If I have to pull a freaking _flashback_, Booth and Brennan will be together next chapter. 3sq 6/17/13


	14. Chapter 14: Wish You Were Here

A/N: Long author's note. Feel free to skip. I don't usually do this.

Whew. Okay. Sorry for the delay. Real life and all that, yes, but also this little story which only set out to tell a few more stories turned out to be a much bigger story than I thought. A good example of how the process of telling a story creates new stories, I suppose. It was through writing that I realized that everything I knew about games—Scrabble and Pitch, Pinochle and Sorry, Oddworld and Halo, Tetris and Bubble Shooter and Dots, Skyrim and World of Warcraft and Call of Duty, Dungeons & Dragons and Magic the Gathering—and gamers SCREAMED at me that Pelant (or, from our perspective, the Bones writers!) was a _**gamer**_. He would think like a gamer, follow rules like a gamer, break rules like a gamer. Motive becomes a much simpler thing when you are playing a game. The motive is implicit. You don't play a game for revenge or to punish your cheating spouse or for money. Games are fun. Period. You play because it is fun to play. The philosopher Bernart Suits said that "Playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles." Yeah. So once this _why _became clear, Brennan (and therefore I) didn't need to figure out _how_ Pelant was doing what he was doing. Good thing, because I'm not that smart. I also know very little about guns or the science behind them and probably even less about the geography of Washington D.C. I made up what I needed and kept it consistent with the world inside the story. In our time, gamers of a certain ascendant sort are children of the 80's so I have allowed the spirit of the 80's to prevail (frankly, as have the writers with Pelant's Evil Lair and its Evil Bank of Evil Television Monitors, not to mention his sewing his own face up, the season finale proposal/breakage and Pelant's improbable omniscience. I'll stop now.) and the plot lives in this kind of universe, not in, well, the real one.

So. It took me a while to figure out how the game would end but now that I have (it is written) you should have a few chapters in close succession. I know I'm supposed to mete them out carefully but being a reader who gobbles sequels, I just can't find it in me. If it is written, I'll probably post as soon as I can. The next chapter after this one is still in process but then the next two are basically written. So if you like this story, and I love writing it, you should have a good week coming.

When I decided I would try to get rid of Pelant, as an exercise to help me get going , I asked a few Bonesy friends to answer two questions:

_What does each Jeffersonian team member mean to the team (what role do they play) in one word._

and, of course,

_What does the Jeffersonian team, and the work they do as a team, mean to each of the team members, in one word._

This turned out to be wildly handy and formed the basis of the passwords that Pelant was guessing. So since people remember, most often, the first and the last thing they read, I will close this long author's note with the women who answered these questions for me and provided me with their answers to these questions:

Thank you, in reverse order of the number of letters in their ff or twitter name: casket4mytears, bearlee_there, dharmamonkey, faithinbones, boneslenka, fauxmaven, labsquint, hpaich

Thank you to everyone who is reading, some of whom always review and send me the cutest notes and prompts. I really appreciate it...the reading and of course, when you leave your thoughts that is really wonderful. Thank you all.

_You will recall, when last we left our rag tag bunch of defenders, Pelant had just guessed Caroline's password, but had not yet guessed what word Brennan had placed in the case..._

* * *

"Ms. Julian._ Caroline_." At Brennan's voice, the prosecutor's head swiveled from where it was pointed toward Pelant; she looked deeply uncomfortable. It still happened that Brennan was uncertain of which emotion people were showing, especially certain emotions. Differentiating between shame and discontent and guilt continued to be very difficult. Caroline was easier than most people, however, because her face was so expressive and except in court or in other professional circumstances, she didn't bother to hide what she was feeling.

"You underestimate yourself. You—" Brennan wasn't sure what she wanted to say, or even if she should say it. On the other hand, she was supposed to be reacting as genuinely as she could, that was part of the story. She settled for allowing Pelant to see her confusion, let her eyes flick down briefly before settling on him again.

"Do you have a guess for Ms. Julian's role on this team, Christopher?" She forced herself to say his name. "From my perspective, in this case."

"Why yes, I do, Temperance." He enjoyed the exchange of names. "I think that you think of her, in a gross distortion of what the word _ought_ to represent, as: _Justice_."

Brennan nodded her confirmation. "Yes, you are correct. I believe Ms. Julian represents Justice."

And now all eyes were on her, Pelant's as well, waiting. "When I first met Ms. Julian, I had been accused of murder, in New Orleans. Booth had flown down to help me. I had a concussion, a scaphoid fracture—an injury usually resulting from holding hand out to break a fall but the murder had slammed my wrist against a table and I received the same injury that way— and my earring had been ripped out of my ear. Ms. Julian seemed at the time an unfortunate choice of defender but then, as on subsequent occasions, I found her to be a curious mixture of forthright pessimism when in private counsel but relentless advocacy in public. I do not believe that we could have had a more able legal mind and strategist supporting us these years. I have always respected her skill at tactics and her willingness to be unpopular, even with her clients, and ultimately, to uphold the law with both personal and professional integrity." She finished on a personal note. "Also, I find it refreshing that she says what she thinks. No one complains that Ms. Julian is _too blunt_." This last was said with a little bit of indignation and, truth be told, a slight whine in her voice and was directed, in the absence of Angela, to Hodgins.

"Well, we do, but not to her face." Caroline shot him a glare that relieved him that she was feeling more herself. Brennan smiled a little and acknowledged Pelant again. "You now have two extra lives. You have already guessed that I believe that Angela represents Humanity in our team, and you now have 10 minutes to guess her password."

Wendell was standing directly in front of Brennan, between her and Pelant. Pelant came forward and took the briefcase, sitting back at the computer and trying passwords immediately, no running monologue this time, perhaps because there was no Angela to try to rattle. When ten minutes were up, he had not yet found the right word. Brennan started the clock again, using one of his extra lives, and Pelant began to use the thesaurus and word processor. Finally, fully 19 minutes after he began, he sat back with a small sigh of satisfaction as the briefcase popped open.

"What was it?" Wendell seemed surprised at the sound of his own voice.

"You didn't know?" Pelant scoffed.

"No. No, I didn't."

"Coeur. Heart was one of my first guesses but I didn't think to try other languages. I should have known." Wendell nodded thoughtfully and then looked up at Dr. Brennan in question. She nodded. Still he hesitated.

"It's all right, Mr. Bray. Please join the others." Wendell stepped to one side, reluctantly, and then slowly crossed the room to stand at Caroline's side. Now, only a matter of 2 or 3 yards of unoccupied space separated Pelant from Brennan, and when he put the briefcase on the ground and came out from behind the computer to stand and face her, his proximity was alarming and malevolent, threatening on several levels, despite his small stature and the fact that she stood above him on the platform.

This was the man who had forced her to leave her family. To leave _Booth_.

This was the man who had killed Ethan Sawyer, and many others. He killed in brutal ways. He seemed a true sociopath, and armed with a brilliant and creative mind, he was extremely dangerous. She _ought_ to be frightened, was _supposed_ to be. Booth would allow her to remind him that fear was a rational choice in these circumstances. She would tell him that she had confidence that they would prevail today, that just because she was afraid of everything she had to lose, didn't mean that her plan was flawed in some way. She would tell him that fear did not increase the probability of failure and that it was irrational to allow sentiment to cloud their emotions.

He wouldn't listen though. He would grip both her shoulders and lean in to her, his breath ghosting over her cheek as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck and kiss behind her ear, smoothing her hair back with his big warm hands. He would whisper that he didn't care if she called him sentimental. He would tell her that he agreed with her that he thought they would succeed, but that life was short and he loved her and wasn't going to waste any opportunity to tell her. If he were here, that is what he would do. That is what he would say. She would allow him to tell her that he loved her. She would say it back, just to make him feel better. To remind him. She looked at Pelant where he stood in front and below her on the lab floor and readied herself for the next stage of play.

She wished Booth was here.


	15. Chapter 15: Rogue Element

It only took him 14 minutes this time, but Pelant guessed Brennan's password in the end: _Reason_.

She honestly hadn't thought that it would take him that long, but his own ego seemed to have gotten in the way. Most of the words that she could discern as he muttered and punched them into the keypad involved intellect in some way...genius, brilliance, ability, accomplishment, acumen, acuteness, adept, aptitude, aptness,astuteness, bent, brain, brilliance, capability, capacity, creativity, discernment,endowment, expert, faculty, flair, grasp, head, imagination, inclination, ingenuity,inspiration, intelligence, inventiveness, knack, mature, originality, percipience, perspicacity, power, precocity, prodigy, propensity, prowess, reach, sagacity,superability, talent, turn, understanding, virtuoso, wisdom...

Nevertheless, as she had hoped and dreaded in equal measure, he had guessed it and it was with hardly repressed glee that Pelant climbed the steps toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hodgins move. Pelant's head whipped around to warn him off but Hodgins had already stopped. Brennan shook her head _no_ and Sweets gripped his arm. Pelant stuck his tongue out at Hodgins, turned back to Brennan, and continued climbing to the top of the platform, pausing while she swiped her security card. Brennan reached up and efficiently allowed him entry, but then stepped back a few steps toward the center of the platform, putting her examination table squarely at her back. False comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

**B**

Pelant stepped up within inches of Brennan, but instead of looking directly at her, he tipped his head up to look at the array of people above him. In the game, he and Brennan had the most status, the most power, the most advanced ability, skill, and recovery totals. He had triumphed over the other antagonists—sidekicks, really, extensions of Temperance—and while he was sorry that he wouldn't see Booth's face when he beat Dr. Temperance Brennan _herself_, he wasn't sorry for the strategy that led him to separate them.

The people overhead were not even pawns; they were drones. Powerless, they were more like the faceless, background inhabitants of the virtual game world, witnesses at best. He allowed himself a moment to take it all in, the triumph. Just a few luxurious seconds of self-indulgent sensory input.

He was on the forensic platform, her domain. Surrounded by the tools of her trade, not to mention the bones she had been working on, Christopher was reminded of the hours he spent on the malware he carved into the bone. That was one of his best ideas. The juxtaposition of modern and stone age technology was thrilling, and his anticipation of the malware's impact on both their hardware and their arrogance was worth every second of the days and weeks he spent on the code and the microcarving.

Still not looking directly at her, he could sense the shape of her body in front of him, rigidly held and still. He became aware of the sound of her breathing, smooth and controlled, but faster than usual. She was not unaffected by this. He had rarely been this close to her and could smell some kind of fruity, girly scent and a little sweat. It felt good to know she was affected.

He grinned happily up at the people on the catwalk and then turned and smiled at the people arrayed below him. They looked worried, especially the mouthy lawyer. Pelant knew that his smile—already disconcerting because of his scar—had turned grim and scary. He had to give them credit, their expressions didn't change at all. He was going to win this game, battle-scarred as he was even, and there wasn't anything they could do about it.

Before he ended the game, however, he had something to say. He turned to face her.

"Temperance." He was momentarily surprised by the tenderness in his own voice. Standing close to her like this, he could see the striking intelligence in her eyes. Yes, she was scared but mostly she was _curious_. He loved that about her. It was so hard to find people who saw the world the way he did. He let his eyes meet hers, let himself look at her, imagine for just an instant that they were together, that they would turn and play the next game together. He let his eyes drop to her lips. This wasn't about sex, or worse, about having a _girlfriend_. But if it was, he would choose _her_, press his lips against hers, tip her head back... He clenched his fingers into a fist to prevent himself from touching her. She was beautiful, objectively, but he felt sudden rage at anyone who looked at her and thought that she was pretty. It was her mind and what she could do with it that made her more desirable than any woman on the planet.

Too bad she had to die.

"Temperance. I enjoyed our game." He waited, in case she wanted to respond.

She blinked and finally said. "Planning it was an interesting exercise, if one I would have preferred to forego."

He nodded sadly. "As much as I enjoyed it, I think I am finished with this game now, and since I suspect the next game you have planned for me is prison or death, I think I had better end it on my terms. I could, of course, get out of prison again but somehow, doing that is getting tedious.

He flipped up the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out the simple detonation device used by evil villains in the movies and on television for the last century. His fingers curled around the yellow plastic tube and his thumb pressed the big black button, and as he moved to speak, to announce that he would be taking Temperance Brennan with him safely from the building and no one could stop him, two very surprising things happened.

First, Temperance took his hand in hers. His free hand, not the one holding the detonator. He was helpless not to glance down to see her warm, slender fingers slipping around his, her body drawing closer, but then his eyes leapt up because he heard

the glass doors of the Jeffersonian lab whooshing open where they should have stayed locked. _He knew he had this lab locked down and that meant..._but then

Hayes Flynn rolled through the doors in a wheelchair. Pelant didn't know what it meant but it was the first truly shocking thing about this afternoon and that meant...Booth.

And then...and then...he heard the sound of the gun, the prick of the bullet _no, no that wasn't right bullets don't prick_ but then he didn't care about the bullet because Temperance was embracing him, holding him, both of her hands on him, lowering him gently to the ground and then...and then

**B**

It was very strange and unpleasant to be pressed so close to a man other than Booth. He smelled _wrong_ and if taking his hand had been uncomfortable, letting the weight of his body pull her to the ground in some parody of the sexual act was much, much worse. Her hands, which had stayed dry throughout, were suddenly damp with sweat and her thumb was alarmingly slippery on the black button of the detonator she was now depressing. Pelant's creepy hands had dropped away and Brennan felt her mind recoiling from him even as she tried hard to stay as still as possible.

Her eyes searched for Booth. There. Just where he stood on that long night in the lab to shoot a travelling cantaloupe with a replica of the rifle that Lee Harvey Oswald used. He was standing right where he had been that night. How had he gotten there?

She watched him lower the rifle, still alert, and move quickly to peer over the rail to check her safety.

"You okay, Bones?" He called down.

"Yes, Booth, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She could really only look at him with one eye, the way that Pelant was laying on her, the way she was trying to hold his body still, and Booth's voice, repetitive though his question was, was welcome.

"I am sure. Booth?"

"I'm right here, Bones, I'm coming."

"Booth?"

"_Yeah_, Bones?"

"You know who is good at jibber jabber?" It was already starting to get hard to hear as people started moving and talking, and Brennan raised her voice.

"I'm coming, Bones. Stay there, I'm coming!" He sounded a little worried.

"Where else would I go?" Brennan commented acerbically from under Pelant's dead weight. She raised her voice. "Booth! Do you know who is good at jibber jabber?"

This time he didn't disappoint. "You are, Bones. You are the _best_ at jibber jabber." She subsided, satisfied. His voice was coming from the stairs this time and she knew he was on his way.

But then, real relief as Hodgins and Wendell were there with her and several helmeted Bomb techs shifted Pelant off of her, clamping the detonator button carefully and even more carefully shifting the messenger bag with him. And then Pelant was being lifted _off of her_ onto a gurney and wheeled down off the main platform although not taken from the lab yet and Hodgins grabbed her and hugged her, and again, the feeling of having lived this story before, but she couldn't help but hug him back, a few tears squeezing out as she was transported back to another desperate place. She wrapped her arms around Jack's neck now, but smelled the acrid odor of that car, the coal-rich soil they were buried in, the perfume that Angela never got to wear, the stink of sweat and fear and ingenuity.

Without asking her permission, Hodgins transferred her to Wendell who embraced her too. And she could hear raised voices and people clattering down the steps and new voices and the doors whooshing open and closed again as more security services and probably paramedics and more FBI agents, maybe even homeland security given the threat of bombing at a national institution. Who else? Agent Flynn. What had Agent Flynn been doing here? Distracting Pelant, obviously. Her mind insisted on cataloguing even as she lay on the cool floor of the forensic platform. Her legs refused to consider standing and her ears strained for the sound of the one person she most needed to hear. She certainly couldn't see him with all these people around her.

"Get out of the DAMN way!" And she had just enough time for her mouth to curve up in response to this overreaction before Booth was there. Booth, whom she had seen just that morning but whom she hadn't felt close to in weeks. He crouched just long enough to haul her into his arms, hands sweeping up and down her back, holding her like he always did, always had. She could feel his lungs working like bellows. Booth was in excellent health and rarely labored for breath. Brennan just pressed her face into his neck and breathed in the smell of his t-shirt and sweat, opened her mouth a little just to taste his skin. He didn't seem to notice but pressed a kiss to her head. "God, babe. _Jesus_. What were you thinking?" His blasphemy sounded more like a prayer.

Brennan heard a familiar voice and raised her head suddenly, knocking into Booth's chin. "Angela!" Angela floated through the doors, in her element, surrounded by her flock of programmers, all taking orders from her. She saw Brennan and laughed, a huge white smile on her face. "We got him, Bren!" She shouted, adding, "and the kids are safe and happy with my Dad, don't worry!" And then her attention was caught by the tech bringing Pelant's laptop over.

When Brennan turned back to Booth, his eyes were still on her face, conducting his own catalogue while simultaneously smoothing her hair back with his hands. For the moment, there was no strain between them, no cringing hesitation, just straightforward relief and desire to keep her near him, always. Her palms rested on his chest and she could tell already that her nearness was calming him. His breathing was not nearly as stertorous.

"Bones?" His deep voice, always nuanced, held a thousand questions.

She looked up at him helplessly, not knowing where to begin and also realizing that a little bit of anger, the legacy of these past weeks, was creeping back between them. She pushed it away, ruthless. His fear for her, his ultimate _rescue_ of her, the love shining in his eyes...they were palpable and reliable. "I don't know where to start, Booth. Can we...can we...go somewhere..." She looked around helplessly.

"I...I don't think we're going to get to do that yet, Bones." He pulled her into his chest again, dropping his chin onto the top of her head, "God, baby, I just want to get you out of here, but I think that we—"

Cullen's booming voice sounded from nearby, "Booth!" And a little more quietly, "Dr. Brennan! A word, if you would, down here."

But even Cullen didn't get the time he wanted as the Bomb techs and FBI techs worked to clear the room. Brennan insisted that everyone who had been present for the first part of the afternoon (she couldn't quite bring herself to continue calling this afternoon's travesty of recreation a "game") stay until Angela gave the All Clear. Angela was busy analyzing the contents of Pelant's laptop and shutting down any connections between it and his homebase, presumably having shut everything she could shut down from there already and trying to ensure that Pelant's departure from the building didn't set off any attacks. Finally, she gave a tentative thumbs up.

But the FBI were taking no chances. Ginny Shaw and Sweets made sure Pelant was at least partially alert and aware of what was going on so that Angela could make him aware that his security had been breached, his knots unraveled, and the many metaphoric and actual guns he had pointed at people had been disarmed. With every new revelation his smug—if slightly woozy—expression closed down a little more. They watched him carefully for any non-verbal sign that there was something they had missed, and continued to watch him as they moved him from the lab to an FBI vehicle for transport to a maximum security detention center. Sweets thought it was unlikely that Pelant would sacrifice himself to hurt them in some final act of self-destruction. To his mind, Pelant's psychology was clearly that of a survivor, if nothing else. Nevertheless, they watched.

Nothing happened. Angela and her team of hackers seemed to have made a clean sweep of Pelant's defensive and offensive systems.

And so, in the end, it was only a little more than an hour after Booth had shot him with the tranquilizer dart that Christopher Pelant left the Jeffersonian for the last time. Again, Booth looked at Brennan. _Can we get out of here?_ And again, Cullen intruded, raising his voice for attention and waving a hand over his head. "All right. ALL of you. Everyone who was here this afternoon, you are coming with me. We...you...got him. And I know you are hungry and haven't been sleeping well and have just been through the longest damn day ever, but I think we need to debrief and it needs to be now." He checked his watch. "Everyone get yourself to the Founding Fathers. We'll take their back room. Fifteen minutes. See you there." He turned to give instructions to several of the agents staying behind.

Booth looked at Brennan helplessly. "Did you bring a bag with you?"

Brennan glanced up at the forensic platform. "Up there, Booth."

He pressed her shoulder. "I'll get it."

When he got back, Brennan was standing surrounded by most of the team. They stood a minute more, waiting for Angela to finish up, but when she joined them, they all headed out through the double doors together. Yet again, Brennan was reminded of the long night when they had been seconded by the General Services Administration to examine a dead president's bones. This time she recalled the morning after that long night. The breakfast that felt like dinner and the giddiness of sleeplessness and intrigue and being involved—again—in something most people only dream of touching.

There were more of them today, though, and the sun, instead of rising, was slanting through the nearby buildings in dusty late afternoon shafts of light. Brennan, Booth, Hodgins, Angela, Cam, Sweets, Wendell, Arastoo, Fisher, Daisy, Clark. Everyone who had been able to come to the lab today. Finn was at a conference. Zach was out of reach, although Brennan confirmed that Sweets had gotten word to Zach that they had Pelant in custody and that everyone was alive and well.

A surprisingly short time later they were greeting Cullen and Shaw, Charlie Burns and Agent Flynn. In the quiet that fell as one by one they took their seats, there was resolution and hope, but also a sense of waiting, of unfinished business. They all felt it, to one degree or another, and several of them thought that perhaps it was just that they had lived under the threat of Christopher Pelant for so long, they had become used to the ever-present anxiety. They had a good chance of beating him this time, still within the system. That was something. Maybe they would be able to track down some of Hodgins' missing millions.

Sam Cullen met their server at the door, exchanged his credit card for a bottle and a tray of shot glasses, and then served them himself. When they looked surprised, he answered their raised eyebrows with a gruff, "To take the edge off. I don't know about the rest of you, but that goddamned dog and pony show in there was no cakewalk. Someone will be here in a minute to take our orders—it's on me today—but first—" He poured a last shot for himself and raised it where he stood, "To Dr. Brennan. I have said it more than once, but lady, you have got _balls_." Brennan smiled a little and downed her shot smoothly. The others followed. Caroline pushed her chair back and got to her feet, preparing to say something herself when six phones signaled incoming text messages. Cullen, Booth, Flynn, Shaw, Sweets, and Caroline all looked at their displays and then at each other.

"_Jesus." _Cullen muttered, looking at Booth. But Booth wasn't looking at Cullen; he was looking at Brennan. Somehow he had ended up on the end, with Brennan on his left. He didn't move but turned his head toward her.

"He's dead." Her partner stated baldly, watching her face, her eyes. "Pelant's dead. He was shot in the head, shot through the transport window halfway to the Hoover."


	16. Chapter 16: The Lover and the Loved

So my favorite story title in _One Thousand and One Nights_ is "The Tale of King Omar bin al—Nu'uman and His Sons Sharrkan and Zau al—Makan, and What Befel Them of Things Seld—Seen and Peregrine". But I also like "Tale of Tàj al—Mulúk and the Princess Dunyà: The Lover and the Loved". Also I like this chapter. I hope you do too. 3SQ 7/7/13

* * *

While exclamations and chatter rose up around them, Booth and Brennan just looked at each other. Her face gave nothing away, but he didn't need it to tell him anything. Not anymore. Booth leaned in close and kissed her, and she wasn't about to stop him, even though they were in public. She needed this and opened her mouth slightly under his. Just enough to connect them, to taste him. The kiss ended soon enough, unremarked by most of those around them, and Brennan curled into him, smelling his Boothy smell that not only meant sex and strong thighs and beautiful hands but also meant safety and comfort and understanding when she didn't understand herself. Even though he was kissing his way up her cheek now, nuzzling a little into her neck, under her ear, she didn't stop him, and no one was paying any attention. He slid his arm around her, pulled her close, and whispered, "Where's your Dad, Bones? Where's Max?"

She pulled back to look into his eyes. "Pelant made you break the engagement didn't he?"

A small gasp nearby made it clear that Angela had heard the question.

"Yes, he did. He threatened to kill a group of specifically targeted random people if I didn't and if I didn't keep the reason secret." Brennan nodded. The two were jostled as Angela pushed to the side to make room for Shaw and Sweets to stand, preparing to join the on—scene investigation.

"Do you have any more secrets to share with me at this time, then?" She said this with some emphasis and he reached out to squeeze her hand.

"No, Bones. Nothing I can think of. That was the big one. I'm sorry, ba—"

"I don't know where Max is anymore, Booth. I really don't." He realized that this was her way of telling him that she wasn't lying. She really didn't know where Max was, or what he had done. He suspected that probably Max had been at the Jeffersonian this afternoon, somewhere, in reserve.

Cullen was suddenly beside him and Booth stood, shaking his boss' hand. Cullen asked him to sign for the charges at the end of the night, and Booth understood that he wouldn't be allowed to be involved in this investigation, nor would any member of the Jeffersonian forensic team.

For once, he didn't give a shit. He was with his people, and they had a story to tell him.

In the end, Caroline and Sweets stayed too, and Daisy left. Just too awkward still, Booth supposed. And it was just them. He and Bones, Hodgins, Angela, Cam, and Sweets. Caroline. Clark, Wendell, Arastoo, and Fisher. Zach wasn't there. But he kind of was, just the same.

Bones was ravenous and ate more than he had seen her eat since she was pregnant, not that he was going to say _that. _Everyone had something they wanted to know and so the details emerged out of order but eventually, most questions were answered.

Hodgins, predictably, was one of the loudest, persistent, and most obnoxious questioners. "Ange, did you find my money?"

"No, I was too busy trying to save people from dying," she mocked pointedly, but then smiled, "but I do think that I have an idea, seeing how his infrastructure was set up, of where it might have gone."

"Good, cause baby, I'm ready for things to get back to normal. I—"

"Wait," said Booth, "How did you find him, anyway?"

Angela exchanged a look with Brennan. And so, it was Brennan who answered, deliberately casual, her attention seemingly on her plate of food. "Well, Angela and I were together a lot two weeks ago, in the days after we prevented Pelant's drone from killing Sweets." Many people looked at Booth, or just as pointedly, _didn't_ look at Booth, knowing as most of them did that he broke the engagement with Brennan right around then.

But Brennan continued, " I suspect, if we hadn't been talking quite so much, that we might never have made the insights that led to today." She took a deep breath. "While we were together one afternoon—" her eyes shifted from Angela to Booth and then back again, flitting briefly to Cam.

"They skipped out on work to get drunk!" Cam whispered to Sweets. "I KNEW something was up. I can't believe they went _without_ me!" Sweets smiled but his attention was on Brennan. Brennan, however, caught Cam's eye and her smile was a apologetic. Cam smiled back, a little weepy. _Damn, she was emotional today._

"—talking about...things...Angela mentioned that it seemed that Booth and Pelant had something in common." Booth did a double take that made Sweets laugh, but he waited for her explanation. She looked up at him, her eyes dark in the amber light of the room. "Me."

"I love you, you know." His voice was husky but deliberate. Everyone in the room stilled. Booth was a careful man, a private man. He talked a lot, but long ago learned how to hold his true thoughts and feelings close. Every person in that room was suddenly proud to be there, aware of his trust and that he was declaring himself publicly. If he had been actually naked, he could not have stripped himself more bare in that moment.

Brennan didn't look at their friends. She straightened a little though, as she held his gaze with her own bright eyes. Her mouth was the only part of her body that acknowledged the pain of the last few weeks and it is possible that no one but him could see the small tremble before she swallowed and said, equally deliberately.

"I thought I understood what it meant, that I loved you. But then you didn't." Booth's eyelids dropped a little, like he wanted to shut his eyes, but he didn't. She stopped talking and he thought, they all thought, that she would not continue after this cryptic statement. But she did.

"But then you did. Love me. Every night." This, they thought, was less cryptic. They were wrong. But Booth understood. She took a deep breath and turned slightly to include everyone again. She continued to explain.

"I felt like I was acting like a Damsel in Distress. There is _nothing_ I hate more than feeling like a puppet." This last was said with vehemence and more visible emotion than anything before. "But once I stopped feeling and started thinking I realized that this was how I have felt since Pelant came into our lives. Like I was in a fantasy novel, or a romance novel, or a thriller. And I wasn't the only one. Over and over again, each of us responded to stimuli that we didn't recognize as such and Pelant used it. Depended on it. What was extra obscene—I can't believe I have to modify the word "obscene"—" She was clearly disgruntled a being forced into hyperbole, "what was extra obscene about our interactions with Pelant was how complicit he made us. We seemed to be contributing to our own destruction by playing the roles he assigned us. He was telling a story and it felt as though we were characters in it."

Angela interjected. "And I realized that Pelant had been planning on taking Brennan out of prison, not killing her there."

Brennan nodded. "And _together_ we realized that the story was different than we thought it was. Pelant was just as bound into his own story as we were—more so because we knew it and he didn't—so once we figured it out, we could use it."

Brennan was getting tired of talking already. She _knew_ all this. She just wanted to go home. With Booth. "Using what we gleaned about the narrative he had created for himself, one in which he was playing a game with me—albeit one that I wasn't aware of—we were able to deduce _where _he might be observing us and that led me to create an event in which I would challenge him so that Angela could dismantle his infrastructure.

I went and saw Zach, as I usually do, at the beginning of the next week. I told him about our insights, about my suspicion that Pelant was a gamer, and he provided the independent analysis and assessment. Creating the game was complicated but not hard. What _was_ difficult was leaving the narrative unfinished. That was the key."

Arastoo spoke up, nodding. Understanding, finally. They had all been assigned roles by Brennan but she hadn't explained much. "Because every time, _every time_, we tried to predict what Pelant would do next, to get ahead of him, we failed."

"He was a better storyteller than we were." Cam acknowledged, but Hodgins disagreed.

"No. He just knew what story we were in."

"Reminds me of my Nonc. Not actually an uncle but he could talk the hind leg off a dog. And he'd draw people in, not just us little ones, and when the story ended we'd _all_ be laughing or in tears just like he'd wanted."

Wendell interjected after Caroline. "I don't get it, though. Forgive me, Dr. Brennan, but you aren't any kind of storyteller really. I mean, in your books...obviously, as an author, you know what you are doing, but something like today?"

Brennan looked a little embarrassed now. "I agree, Mr. Bray. I got Zach and Sweets to help me write a story, a game, that Pelant would want to participate in, but ultimately it was the fact that I didn't try to manipulate the narrative that was my contribution. We wrote the story that Pelant would engage in. _I_ didn't participate. _We _didn't."

Angela, having questioned Brennan closely through the development of the game, broke in to clarify. "She asked us to choose passwords based on what Pelant likely knew about us, slip into his narrative for a minute. But she didn't. Notice he couldn't really predict what _she_ would say about us, and then, ultimately, she did the most dangerous thing I have ever seen her do."

Brennan looked shocked.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie, but it was. You set this whole thing up and then let the chips fall where they would."

"Ange, if I had tried to engineer the ending, he would have been able to predict it—"

"Oh, I know, Bren. Believe me. You did what you had to. But you did your part, and then you left it up to us to save you. Talk about damsel in distress."

No one knew quite what to say after that. The idea that Brennan had not known that Booth was going to save her but had left things to chance was mind-boggling and terrifying.

"Well, I didn't leave as much to chance as you all seem to think!" Brennan protested finally. "I gave Booth and a few other people clues. I had-" She cut herself off, started again. "I had calculated a reasonable chance—"

Excited, Hodgins shouted and pointed at her. "You had FAITH! That's what you were going to say! Admit it! Wasn't it?"

Brennan's mouth twisted in reluctant agreement and amusement. She looked at him and said, "_Fine_. I 'had faith, baby.'" He grinned wider at her acknowledgement, and he raised a glass in silent toast to their shared memory of the day, the moment, when he had last said that to her. She raised her glass too, and drank. Booth looked between them, recognizing a story she hadn't told him. Later, he thought.

"Booth, how the hell did you get into the Jeffersonian?" Angela wanted to know, and Cam joined in.

Booth's eyes were twinkling now. "If you think, after that night I had to shoot my way in, that I wasn't going to have a back way to get into the lab, you're crazy."

"Crazy like a fox." Cam muttered, affectionately. "You aren't going to tell us, are you?"

"Hell, no." He grinned and slipped an arm around Brennan, rubbing her shoulder and playing with her hair. He didn't seem to be aware that he was doing it, but Brennan was, and she allowed herself to lean into him a little more. Now, suddenly, she wished she could stay here forever. In this bar, with Booth's hand on her, surrounded by friends and people who challenged her.

Hodgins raised his voice. "Remember that time we concocted a preposterous and elaborately complex scheme to trap an evil villain, said scheme requiring that we work together as a team like never before, trapping him by means of his own arrogance and with only a slim chance of success?"

Everyone laughed. Except Brennan.

"Wait. What? That _just_ happened!"

They all paused uncomfortably. Angela said, gently teasing. "He knows, Sweetie. It's..."

Fisher spoke. "A narrative convention, Dr. Brennan. Or a play on one. A joke. Since you were talking about stories."

The look of distaste on her face cleared. "Oh, because it takes longer than," she checked her watch, "4 hours and 47 minutes for an event to recede far enough into the past for it to be recalled as a story. Yes, I can see that." She looked at Booth and declared, "Very funny!"

Caroline said, "I'd say _not any more it isn't_, but you know what? It still is!" Laughter.

Booth knew what was coming and wouldn't have _dreamed_ of stopping her.

"Remember that time that we used chaos theory to modify a particular model of game theory to allow for the presence and possible action of both independent, dependent, and undefined variables to...to..._foil_ the master criminal?" She looked around expectantly. Confusion gave way to more laughter as they deciphered what Brennan had said.

"Good one, Bones." Brennan beamed up at Booth, and everyone else laughed again, genuinely laughed. Because it was funny, and in relief, and at the return to normality. In fact...

"Remember the time that we left two small children in the care of a guitar-wielding, gun-toting Texan who had band practice at Madison Square Garden this afternoon?" Angela added and grinned. Booth's head swiveled to glare but anything he might have said was cut off.

"Remember that time we had to applaud like idiots in the peanut gallery?" Clark grumbled and turned to Wendell, "How come you got to stand in for Angela?!"

"Remember that time we went to the Jeffersonian on a Sunday to open ourselves up to the ridicule and scorn of a truly awful man and the worse part was, in some insane way, listening to facts about yourself revealed to the people you most respect?" The faces turned toward Cam showed understanding and undiminished respect.

She nodded, eyes dry. She was done with crying today; however, she had more to say. She turned to Arastoo. "Remember when you came down and stood by me?"

Arastoo looked back at her calmly, his mouth quirking in self-deprecation, his poet's voice deep and lovely to her ears.

"I remember."

Sweets cleared his throat. "Remember that time that taking down Pelant meant that I just _had_ to play hours of online RPGs with Fisher and Zach?" He grinned around the table. "What!? It was research! And, and, and remember that time that Zach used the magnetic strip on my library card to break out of the loony bin? I wish he had done it today. We could have used him." They all laughed again, but not as hard. Maybe a little sad.

The eleven friends around the table had years of shared experiences and one day soon, as they did every once in a while, they would sit around another table, at this or a different bar, and reminisce more. Some day. When the tide of fear and hope and anticipation, of dread and revulsion and recognition, had receded. When the deep, dark water didn't feel so high. When the pull of the moon was not so strong.

"Remember that time I asked you to marry me?"

Everyone was staring at Brennan again. Angela's mouth was open and she groped for Hodgins' hand behind and next to her. The only head that hadn't swiveled to focus on her was Booth's. He was as he had been for a while now, facing forward, relaxed in his chair, arm around Brennan so that he could touch her, a glass of water in his other hand. He had to drive home, after all. He was going to get to drive her _home_. He had heard what she said, felt the weight of her gaze on his face. He turned his head, finally, and met blue eyes with brown.

"Remember the time I asked _you_?"


	17. Chapter 17: More Tales of the City

A/N: So I have bits and pieces of _Arabian Nights_, the _Tale of 1001 nights_, _The Decameron_ and others in Evernote and all over the place, and yet when it came to finding an epigraph for this chapter, I couldn't find anything that resonated. Apparently, everyone from Tolstoy and Pushkin, Yeats and Borges, Angela Carter and A.S. Byatt were influenced by _1001 Nights_. And yet, I couldn't find anything they wrote that spoke to me. Although A.S. Byatt did write "In British Romantic poetry the Arabian Nights stood for the wonderful against the mundane, the imaginative against the prosaically and reductively rational," which I thought was kind of interesting but not really very moving. Then, I found something really interesting: a 2011 novel called "One Hundred and One Nights" by Benjamin Buckholz which "uses the frame of Scheherazade's storytelling technique to narrate a tale about the village of Safwan, Iraq during the most recent American war." Sounds really good (dharmamonkey, are you in?), and I'm going to get it!

Well, on with my story. I think I have the hardest time with endings. I almost always know where I want to start, some scenes on the way, but I don't always know when to stop, or how to stop. Also, by now, the vulnerability that comes with posting a chapter is compounded by the expectation that the chapters actually work together! So here I am, hoping that, as Woody Allen said, "Eighty percent of success is showing up." Because that's all I've got. This chapter may be too wordy, too detailed, too fluffy, but it is what it is. This is what wanted to stay on the page when other stuff just slid right off. Thank you all for reading through to the end. 3sq, August 11, 2013

* * *

Brennan: It's clearly irrational, but I feel I could never find a better man to spend my life with. And I'm...

Angela: Happy.

Brennan: And I thought that should be recorded for the world.

From Season 8, Bones finale, The Secret in the Siege

I think this comment from Brennan is as close as I can get to really understanding them getting married. Stories and writing and recording and documenting and shouting from the rooftops. Something like that. Thank you for reading.

3squares

B

The eleven friends around the table had years of shared experiences and one day soon, as they did every once in a while, they would sit around another table, at this or a different bar, and reminisce more. Some day. When the tide of fear and hope and anticipation, of dread and revulsion and recognition, had receded. When the deep, dark water didn't feel so high. When the pull of the moon was not so strong.

"Remember that time I asked you to marry me?"

Everyone was staring at Brennan again. Angela's mouth was open and she groped for Hodgins' hand behind and next to her. The only head that hadn't swiveled to focus on her was Booth's. He was as he had been for a while now, facing forward, relaxed in his chair, arm around Brennan so that he could touch her, a glass of water in his other hand. He had to drive home, after all. He was going to get to drive her _home_. He had heard what she said, felt the weight of her gaze on his face. He turned his head, finally, and met blue eyes with brown.

"Remember the time I asked _you_?"

Brennan's expression didn't change, but then again, she'd always been good at hiding how she felt. They were all sitting close enough that those who were watching her face saw her eyebrows pinch together slightly. Booth was uncharacteristically still, relaxed and smiling a little. Finally, he said, "Bones?"

When she still didn't answer, his mouth quirked uncertainly, but his eyes remained steady on hers. Whether she said yes or not, he was done pretending he didn't want her to be his wife. His _wife_, goddammit. And in the last two weeks, he'd put a hell of a lot more on the line than a proposal of marriage. If she said no, if she said yes, he wasn't going to let her go.

The others, arrayed around the table, hardly dared to breathe as they watched the drama playing out before them. Pelant would _really_ have hated this; the events of this afternoon had been entirely upstaged by this scene.

"We're _not_ enough the way we are?" She echoed his words from two weeks ago, searching his face for answers.

"We are. Of _course_ we are. We always were." He waited for her to ask why, then, they should get married. But she didn't.

She leaned up and caught his mouth with hers. He was reminded of another recent kiss. _You are not allowed to die. Do you understand? _ Their friends applauded but Booth was only distantly aware of that fact as his hand moved up to cup her cheek as his mouth moved gently on hers. She buried her head in his chest, as always a little clumsy, a little more forceful than strictly necessary but he just reeled her in and held on, wondering if she had answered or not.

B

"Ah Wonnnnn Kkkkkkkk UP. Buuuuuuu. Tttttt. Errrrrr."

Brennan looked at Booth incredulously, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere, despite the tiredness. "Wha..._what?"_

Booth turned his head to face her in the dark, his hands on the steering wheel and as often was the way, looking away from the road just a little too long for her comfort. But she wasn't up for that battle tonight. He checked the road quickly and then his focus was back on her. He said, seriously, holding her eyes:

"Ahh Wonnnnn annnnnd. wonnnnnnnn haaaaaaff. — won haffff — teeeespooon. vannnnn. illla." He finished with a nod of his head.

"_Booth!_ What are you saying?!" He turned and grinned at her.

"You can't tell?"

"No, I can't tell! How could I make any sense of that? It is absolute gibberish."

The smile hadn't left his lips still, like he was thinking of something good, a good memory, and was too caught up in it to answer.

"What is it, Booth?" Brennan asked, her voice quieter.

His lips twisted a little, she could see in the dimness of the cab. They were on their way to Hodgins and Angela's apartment to pick up Christine who had weathered the flight back from New York City and would be arriving about the same time her parents did. Brennan couldn't think of a time when she was looking forward to going home more. Booth assured her that the clock had been removed from their bedroom and that the signals characteristic of Pelant's devices scanned for throughout the house. There were, in fact, three other devices that were recording either audio or video. It still made her shudder to think. She pushed the thought away but Booth must have sensed her disquiet.

"Hey, Bones...hey...it's okay, all right? It's going to be okay now." She didn't put much stock in such non specific assurances and yet...they made her feel better. No, _he_ made her feel better. And he continued. "I have been thinking about my Aunt Nancy, ever since last week when I told you about the summer I spent with my cousins,. She loved to cook and she listened to this radio station that came in from northern Vermont. She turned it on every day at 1 o'clock to listen to Gus Saunder's Yankee Kitchen." He glanced over to see if she was listening. She was, rapt. She always was when he told her a story. How had he not realized that fact before now?

"One day, I had come inside to get a towel—we were swimming—and my Aunt Nancy handed me a note pad and pencil and ran out fast, toward the restroom. I had to listen to that old man read recipes on the air to even older women for fifteen minutes while she was gone." He mimicked Gus Saunders again, "Wwwwwwonnnnnnnn. KkkkkkkkkkkUP. Shuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Garrrrrrrrr." I didn't think it would ever end. But it must have been the end of the show because he was just finishing up when my Aunt Nancy came back. She kissed me on the head and took the pad, sending me back outside. She was always kissing me, all of us really. She'd hug and kiss us all every night when we went to bed even though half of us weren't hers."

Brennan could hear the wistfulness leaking into his voice. "She was great. That time she hugged me and said 'Thank you Seeley boy. Isn't he _awful_?' and I couldn't believe that she _knew _he was awful and my Aunt Nancy laughed and said, 'I don't know where he gets his recipes but they are always excellent...you know those biscuits you ate 7 of last night? Those were from that show, but it _is _torture to listen isn't it?' And she hugged me and laughed when I got her all wet. Every day after that, I found an excuse to come inside between 1 and 2 and listen to that guy read slower than any guy had EVER read in the history of reading. The words didn't even sound like words. And Aunt Nancy and I would laugh at him."

Brennan reached out and took his hand, slipping her smaller one into his big one. She didn't usually do this when he was driving, being the stickler for safety that she was, but he figured she must need it and squeezed back. When he glanced over, she was looking down, light flashing over her face arrhythmically as they made their way down the nighttime streets of D.C. He couldn't see her face until she turned it toward him, but even then he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Booth, did you really threaten to kill that man? Ortez?"

He turned back to the road but didn't hesitate to answer her. "Yes, Bones. I did."

"Tell me about it, please."

He let himself think back to those days, early days in their partnership. From the beginning, she was unlike anyone else and when Ortez had tried to intimidate her, pressure her, she laid him out in front of the entire floor. He shifted and then played for a little time.

"Bones, we're almost there," He flicked on his blinker and got ready to turn on the right block. "Can we do this at home, later?"

She didn't even fight him on it and that made him a little sad, sorry somehow. The quirk of her lips and the quick look down and sideways toward him showed resignation. "Yes of course, Booth." He almost took it back, but before he could, she added, sincerely, "If I didn't know better, I would say that this day seemed twice as long as any other day." She leaned her head back against the headrest. "I will be glad to get Christine and _go_ _home._"

This time he took her hand. This time _she_ squeezed back.

BBB

Not even an hour later, they were home. Christine had squealed happily and then shrieked for her mother when Brennan walked into Angela's. Brennan gathered the tiny girl up and talked to her while Booth checked in with Hodgins, sneaking looks at his girls over his shoulder. When Christine caught sight of him, she launched herself out of Brennan's arms toward him. Wise to this move, Brennan was ready to catch the baby and "fly" her over to Booth. He scooped her up, kissing her belly and then snuggling her on his hip. He wasn't surprised though, when less than a minute later, Christine's head swivelled to find Bones and then squawked her disapproval at not being in her mother's arms. She was asleep by the time they were halfway home and didn't wake as they shifted her to her crib.

In a rare concession to fatigue, Brennan leaned over, resting her chin on arms that rested on the top crib rail. She was still, just watching her baby sleep. _Her baby. Her Booth. Her life, _she thought. I_t's not something someone can take away_, she thought, although she wasn't entirely sure what she meant.

Booth didn't seem any more eager to move away. He moved behind her so that her hip pressed into him and he curved his body around hers, warm and male and all _Booth_ as he braced his right hand on the crib and reached forward with his left to stroke Christine's soft forehead, to shift the sweaty curls on her baby head, to rub her belly a little through the sleeper. Brennan breathed deeply, restfully, and was grateful to watch him comfort himself by reaching out to their daughter.

Finally, Booth straightened and reached for her, pulling her against him. She let herself rest against him in the dim light of the hall that leaked through to the baby's room.

"Bones, you know I love you, right?" Needing reassurance, trusting her despite having hurt her.

"I know that, Booth. I do, it's just—"

"No. Babe," His hand snuck beneath her hair to stroke but also to gently keep her pressed to him. "I am not trying to start a conversation really...unless you want to I guess, but I needed to say it. After today, after everything that has happened, I just needed to say it out loud here, in our home, to you, when I knew you were really listening." His mouth moved against her hairline, gently, but his arms had tightened, showing how distressed he really was.

She wriggled out of his grasp, took his hand and led him away, down the hall, to their bedroom. She flicked on the light in the bathroom and squinting a little turned back to look at him. They brushed their teeth together; she washed her face, put on face cream, Booth still nearby. When she was done, he followed her out, flicking off the light and plunging them into darkness. Not before she saw the empty nightstand though.

They undressed together, in the dark, and curled into each other in the middle of their bed. She fell asleep as his palm swept lazy circles on her back and when she jerked awake later, her face was hot and a little sweaty against his chest. Booth was asleep but restless. Probably just a little too hot; as much as she loved being close to him, he was a furnace at night. She slipped out of bed and he mumbled in vague protest but turned over to settle comfortably on his side. She flipped one of the two blankets off of him and crossed the room to crack the window. She sat a minute, in the dark, in a chair by the window, the cool night air blowing in. She could smell cherry blossoms and faintly, the salty wet smell of the marsh.

She sat a long time, longer than she had anticipated and was chilled by the time she rose, resolved.

B

The next morning was a study in normalcy. If Booth had plans for them to stay home today, given the events of Sunday, he abandoned them when he woke to the sounds of his weekday household. If he was a little disappointed, he also couldn't help but smile at the clink of spoons on bowls, the thunk of his daughter's heels drumming against her high chair, the sound of Bones reading to Christine from the Science section of the newspaper. The only strange thing was not waking to an alarm, or to Bones waking him up. The indistinguishable vowels and consonants of Bones' reading stopped and he heard her rise and come to the stairs.

"Booth?!" She called up. "Are you awake?"

"I'm awake, Bones."

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure. It's 7:15. Can we leave by 8 do you think?" He glanced at the clock and remembered that they didn't have one any more.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'd better get going then. I'm going to take a shower. Don't worry about breakfast; I'll get something later."

"Okay, Booth." The sound of her footsteps on the wood floor he laid himself made him smile. When he got out of the shower, he could hear them in Christine's room, and dressed while he listened. All but done, he went to Christine's room and took over care of the baby while Bones finished up her own preparations. Christine was wide awake and happy and probably he should have checked the diaper bag for everything that they wanted to send with her but he knew that Bones would just double check everything anyway. And add something. He sometimes suspected she added things even when there was nothing to add, just to maintain her diaper bag supremacy. Not even that irritated him today and he left Bones to do the rest of the morning routine while he took Christine out back to swing.

"Booth!"

"Coming, Bones!" He jogged with Christine toward the front of the house. "Mommy's in a hurry, huh, baby? We can't keep her waiting..." Her little face was serious as he bumped her up and down. So like her mother.

Instead of a mini-lecture on making them late when he got to the car, though, Bones just exchanged Christine for a breakfast sandwich and turned to get the baby buckled into her seat. Booth picked up the diaper bag and waited for her to finish. When she turned, straightening, he reached out and cupped her cheek in one hand.

"Thanks, Bones."

She blinked, surprised. "Why are you thanking me?"

He leaned over and kissed her, kissed her until she softened and put a hand on his chest. "For the sandwich, for letting me sleep. I'm just happy, I guess. And it's mostly because of you. So thanks."

Her eyes were shining and he could tell she was struggling to remain unemotional. But instead of denying anything he had said, she just said, matter of factly: "You're welcome, Booth." And moved around him to slide into her side of the truck. For the first time in a long time, Booth felt really hopeful, like all was right in the world.

B

That night, in bed, Booth reported "I got an email from Russ today. He wants to take Hayley and Emma to a Nationals Game on Saturday. He asked if Parker and I wanted to go."

"You should go, Booth. You should take Christine."

"_Really_?"

"Really. As we have discussed, she may not remember going to the game but being with her father, her uncle, and her cousins, being outside, taking part in cultural traditions...these are all good for her. Perhaps Amy and I will visit a museum or meet Angela for lunch."

"That sounds great, Bones. Are you _sure_ you don't want to take Christine with you?"

'I'm sure, Booth. You take her with you. You will enjoy that." She curled into him, arm sneaking across his body to roll him toward her. He came willingly, shifting so that he could touch her the way he liked, the way she loved. In between kisses, he asked her, "did you ever go to baseball games with Russ?" And was surprised when he was suddenly kissing her smiling mouth.

He pulled back a little to see her eyes, "What?"

She smirked. "Once." He could feel tiny laughs shaking her belly against him. His own smile grew wider. "I was afraid of the Trash Monster. And the team mascot. It was some kind of bear-like animal. The other children seemed to find it stimulating, but apparently, I screamed every time I saw it."

Booth laughed. "How old were you?"

"I don't really remember. Perhaps 6?"

"Aw, Bones. Poor you." Booth pulled her into hug. "What happened?"

She pulled back, leaning on his chest. "Well, my Dad moved us to these seats really really far away from everyone. I didn't watch a second of the game. I just kept my eye on the audience—"

"_Spectators, _Bones."

"—and every time the grotesque puppet came within 50 meters of me, I would scream. Finally, my mother took me to get food. We were carrying hot dogs and a beer for my father and other treats when we came around the curve of the stadium and there was the giant bear or whatever it was. I guess my fear must have been infectious because my mother jumped and we both took off running in the other direction."

She leaned over and kissed Booth, unable to resist his proximity.

"We waited until all the large puppets were elsewhere and then snuck up to tell my father and Russ that we would meet them outside after the game. We went to a park nearby and I had a milkshake."

Now Booth kissed her. "Good story, Bones. Haven't you been back to a baseball game since?"

"No, I haven't, Booth. But I would go with you sometime, if you like."

"I like. But what I would really like is to kiss you...right...here..." And Brennan laughed again, husky and breathless.

B

All week long, Brennan told _him_ stories. Booth realized on Wednesday that he was looking forward to bedtime because of it. He didn't know if it was part of how she was dealing with the aftermath of Pelant, and he could feel that there _was_ still a little tension between them at moments. Like when she went to read in her office one night after dinner. But he figured he should give them time, give her time, and her stories were keeping him from worrying too much. Every day, he knew that they'd be going to bed together at night, and that was enough.

She told him how she lived in a terrible neighborhood when she was poor and in graduate school. That's when she started taking self-defense classes and when a blind date got too physical, she was able to defend herself. And, at Booth's prompting, she told him about the time she went with Angela to one of Angela's father's concerts and the time she spent backstage and having dinner with the band. She even answered some questions he asked about her childhood and the time after her parents left.

Not everything that week was so easy but somehow, they saved most of the tough stuff for the daytime. Both of them had paperwork and meetings and debriefs almost every day to get the facts of Sunday, the work that went into it, and the aftermath down on paper for the F.B.I. They had lunch most days, and continued to uncover and share the more personal details of the events of the last month. Hands clasped across the formica table, coffee and the remains of a piece of pie in front of them, Booth told her more about Ortez, and the hit ordered on Brennan. They never did talk about Pelant's death; both of them feeling this was safer to leave in other hands than theirs, and while he didn't know how Max had pulled it off, the wily old goat, Booth was certain Bones' father was responsible for that little twist. Booth couldn't say he was sorry, though, so he let it be. Bones did share with him that Max was one of Bones' backup plans, and was hiding in the Jeffersonian in case he was needed. The diner, crowded and noisy, was private enough for most conversations and with no new cases, Booth and Brennan went home at the end of the day together, took care of their daughter together, crawled into bed together. Their room began to feel like a refuge again and with every new revelation, however mundane, they felt close and closer than ever before.

B

They had a great time at the baseball game. Bones had sprung for excellent seats and Emma had pushed Christine around in the stroller whenever the little girl got fussy. Parker and Hayley had bonded right away over baseball and were more excited about the game than Russ or Booth. Right around the sixth inning, Russ got a text from Emma saying that Christine had fallen asleep in her stroller. Booth went down and retrieved them both, settling Christine on his shoulder to snooze, smiling as Emma settled a hat over Christine's head to keep her from burning as they resumed their seats. They had eaten a huge lunch at a popular restaurant nearby and bought the girls Nationals hats, so everyone was in great spirits as they headed home in the late afternoon. Booth found himself wishing life was always like this as he turned down the street for home.

His heart stopped when he saw the number of FBI vehicles in front of his house. Russ must have seen his fear, because he said, quickly, "Booth, everything's alright. Nothing bad happened."

By then, though, Booth had recognized other cars—Hodgins and Angela's, Caroline's, and Max's. And they were all parked neatly, not haphazardly or clustered across the driveway. He saw balloons, and flowers, and although he couldn't see any people, he knew they must be out back. He pulled into the driveway and parked, turned to Russ. Russ couldn't help smiling at Booth's gobsmacked expression. He reached out and clasped the other man on the shoulder, let the emotion show on his face.

"Everything you need to get dressed is upstairs. Come on out back when you're ready, Booth."

Booth didn't know what to say, "Russ—"

"Hey. You keep on taking care of my little sister, okay?"

Booth swallowed and nodded, forced the words out. "Okay." And then again. "Okay." Booth swivelled to look in the back. The two girls and Parker, from the "way back", were all looking at him, wide eyed and grinning.

"You all knew about this?!" He demanded mock-fiercely.

"Go on, Dad! Go get dressed. C'mon, you guys, let's go out back. Temperance said there would be a cotton candy machine and rockets!" And then the kids were piling out and Russ was taking Christine from her seat, and all that was left for him to do was to go inside.

B

A new suit laid out on the bed. The surreal feeling of being alone in his room, getting ready, to the sound of laughter and talking and music from his backyard. Going on without him. For now.

Walking outside to his backyard, onto the porch, in a suit, the sun still bright and warm on these longer days of spring. Shaking hands and hugging people, looking around for Bones. Cullen, Charlie, Shaw, and Hacker. Others from the Hoover and law enforcement. Wendell and a few other guys from the team. His _mother_, standing with Caroline who was bouncing Christine on her hip. Angela and Hodgins and Michael Vincent and Angela's famous father were all standing with Rebecca, of all people. Suddenly at his side, clasping his arm with restraint but genuine feeling, was Nak. Booth hugged him, thrilled, and then Bones was there, beautiful in turquoise sundress, long sparkly earrings, her hair up, but loose with waves curling around her face.

"I called him so that he would know, but he wanted to come."

"I would not have missed it, my friend." And Nak clasped him on the arm again. Booth thanked him, said something, but would not be able to remember what he said. All his attention was on the woman at his side, taking his hand and leading him down the steps to the lawn. There was a tent, and tables, and a _lot_ of people. All of those people, though, were standing up and gathering around Caroline who gestured for him to come forward. He let go of Bones to step forward, giving Caroline a puzzled look. She just grinned at him impishly until he stood before her, and then she clasped both of his cheeks between her hands, pulled him down, and kissed him full on the lips.

"C'mon, Chere. Let's get this done. I don't want nuthin' else to get in the way of _this _wedding. We wait long enough, some kind of freak weather event will roll through." She raised her voice. "Gather round, now! Can everyone hear me?" Cheers from the people assembled. Bones appeared next to him on one side, holding Christine, and Booth turned to put his arm around Parker, pull him close. Across Parker's head, he met Jared's eye. His brother quirked a brow and gave him a nod. Booth nodded briefly and turned back to Caroline.

"We are here today to witness the marriage of Temperance Joy Keenan Brennan to Seeley Joseph Booth. I have only two things to say. First: I knew it!—" Laughter. "Second, I will just say that I am here to witness their vows. This has been my role, and my privilege," Caroline's voice grew thick with tears for a minute and several slipped down her cheeks, "from the beginning. To be a witness to this partnership, to watch the love grow between them."

Booth, swept along by Brennan's plans, by this extraordinary surprise and most closely held wish, finally had a role to play as Bones froze. Her eyes were huge in her face and she looked nervously around—Bones was never nervous. If it weren't for Christine, he actually thought she might bolt.

"Hey. Hey, Bones. Look at me. _Bones._" He spoke quietly, no one heard what he said except perhaps Parker—who was making faces at Hayley—or Christine. Bones' blue eyes met his and he could see the deep seated conviction that she _wasn't_ _good at this_, that she couldn't promise forever. "It's just us, Bones. You and me. Like always." He saw her inhale, focus and fix on the moment. She nodded and turned to Caroline.

"I'm ready."

"Well, Cherie, it is your show. I am just here to make it all legal-like."

Bones looked at Booth and spoke clearly. It was quiet enough that everyone could hear. Even the littlest children were conveniently not crying.

"Booth, I love you and I want the world to know that I intend to spend my life with you. I cannot promise much more beyond that; there are too many variables. I do not promise not to go to bed angry or to obey you or any of the other things that I found in wedding vows when I was researching them." She swallowed and her eyes flicked down to their clasped hands, before settling on his face again. He was struck by how beautiful she was in that moment, and he felt a knot of desire to protect and keep her swell in his chest.

She took another breath and then, "Rather than bring up romantic moments from our past, or quote romantic poetry, when I was thinking of what to say to you, I was reminded of some things that you said to me in the last few weeks, a time which wasn't the easiest time for us as partners, romantic or professional. You said to me that "when I am next to you, the world is right." You called me wise and witty like Scheherezhade.

I know what you mean about the world being right when you are there, but more than that, these last three weeks have showed me that what our life together is and will be, _should _be, is sharing each other's stories. That every day is a piece of the whole, a perfect miniature version of our life together. I would like that, to listen to your stories, Booth, and tell you mine. Every day."

He was finding it difficult to stay cool himself, and he could hear Angela and maybe a few others, crying around him. He sympathized, but then Parker spoke.

"_Temperance_." He hissed with a significant look at his friend and almost stepmother.

"Oh, right." Bones added quickly and then looked back at Booth, "And I love you."

Caroline, impatient but visibly affected, poked him. "Your turn!"

Booth gave her an exasperated look and turned back to Brennan. "Well, I haven't had a lot of time to prepare, Bones, but then again, nothing in my life ever prepared me for you, so I don't know why I thought this would be different." His smile was indulgent and rueful, and her head cocked to the side a little as she swallowed and pressed her lips together in a little pout.

"I told you once before that I knew that I was that guy. _Your_ guy. And I think that is true, but the reality is so much bigger than that. I love you too. You know that. I think you also know that there isn't any such thing as guy hugs, or doing paperwork for fun. They were just excuses to be closer to you." She was smiling now, her eyes shimmering but not wet. And then, he took a little risk, because he hadn't been able to get the words out of his mind since he read them in her notebook. And as he said the words, her eyes widened as she recognized her own desperate confession from when she was buried with Hodgins.

"I have never trusted anyone like I trust you. No one's opinion of me has ever mattered, or mattered more. I will love you forever, and even if you say that I can't possibly know that, I do. I do know it. I will love you forever, Temperance Brennan. And don't you forget it." He leaned forward and kissed her. And she kissed him back. Christine, trapped between them, squawked and everyone laughed.

Brennan fumbled at her waist for the ring she had pinned there and she looked up at Booth as she held it up. "Booth, I know this was a surprise—"

He cut her off by holding up his ring for her and grinning.

"When did you—"

He just shook his head and took her hand. "Bones—Dr. Temperance Brennan—will you be my wife?" His eyes were soft but serious on hers.

She answered, equally serious, "I will."

When the ring was seated on her finger, she tore her gaze away to look at him. "Seeley Joseph Booth, will you be my husband?"

"I will."

"By the power vested in my by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Caroline announced gleefully. "You may now kiss each other. Again."

B

Booth would remember that afternoon and evening in flashes, like a slideshow. Kneeling in the grass, having changed into jeans again, to help the kids with the rockets and the sparklers. Inviting the neighbors over. Drinking beers with Nak, Hodgins, Jared, Russ, and Sweets on the porch. The array of wedding pies for dessert. Angela hugging him and telling him that her wedding present was forgiving him for hurting Brennan but it had better not happen again and him admitting that it probably would and telling her that he was glad that Bones had a best friend like her and her hugging him again. In fact, he hadn't hugged so many people in his life. Jared and Padme, Max, his Mom, _Charlie_, Sweets. But most of all he would remember Bones, his _wife_. He knew it shouldn't matter, probably didn't matter to her still, but it mattered to him. He loved feeling that connection to her, knowing that she was his and he was hers even when she wasn't next to him. He would remember standing in the relative darkness of the backyard with friends, the kids in bed and the party winding down. He could see Bones in the brightly lit kitchen.

He stood in the dark a long time watching her move around, talking and laughing with Angela, Amy, and someone else he couldn't see just out of sight. He stood in the dark and looked at her in the light and was grateful, so grateful, for what he had. He stooped and set his half full beer bottle on the ground, and, taking the back steps two at a time, went in to join her.

the end


	18. Chapter 18: A teeny, tiny, epilogue

Hi, everyone! I know it is over, but I just kept thinking about it and then there was just this little bit more that I thought I would write for myself and then I thought that maybe you wanted to read it too, especially since many of you seemed pretty happy with the end. So...thank you. Thank you for reading and being thrilled and sticking with the story and just generally, for being my people. My Bones people. We're the best! I love us.

3Squares. August 16, 2013

* * *

Booth was mesmerized by the glint of gold on his finger when he picked Christine up and brought her inside to put her down for the night. He kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. With the sounds of the party—his _wedding _party—suddenly muted, he reveled in the moment. The weight of a tired baby on his arm and chest, the cool of the house, the relative silence, the smell of last night's fire...all welcomed him in.

"Da da da da da da..." Christine chanted his name and slapped fingers wet from her mouth against his cheek. He mouthed her fingers with teeth covered with lips, pretending to chew on them. She squealed happily and then rubbed her eye, bending over and nuzzling into his chest. He felt a wave of love for her, for her mother, for his _life_, that paralyzed him. He had to stop at the foot of the stairs, swaying slightly as he tightened his arms around her, pressed his nose into her. Christine didn't seem to mind the tight embrace, but wriggled into a prone position against him, laying her head to fit perfectly along his shoulder. Booth smelled her baby smell and listened to her baby mumblings and rubbed her tiny back with a hand big enough to cover it whole. Again, he saw the glint of gold as he stroked her softly.

He heard the door open and shut behind him, his mother come to join him at the bottom of the staircase.

"I never get to do this. I just had to see her go to sleep." She smiled and rubbed Christine's back a little too. Marianne looked up at him and asked solicitously, want clear in her eyes. "Is that okay? Do you...do you...want me to put her down?" She tried so hard to not encroach on him, on their family, and Booth was glad she was back in his life but he had to acknowledge (if only because Bones made him) that he continued to feel a little bit of _who do you think you are_ when Marianne inserted herself into established family routines. He swallowed his irritation. _Nothing_ would ruin today.

"Sure, Mom. Here, baby..." He transferred Christine, who was almost asleep already. "See you outside?" He whispered to his mother. She agreed with an absent nod, her face turned down toward the baby, attention on Christine. Booth could tell that she was going to take her time. He couldn't blame her, watching Christine's sweet head bob gently as Marianne walked up the stairs.

Shaking off his melancholy, Booth turned and headed back outside to find his wife.

BBB

Brennan was very interested in hearing the story of how Booth came to have a wedding ring ready and waiting in her size. She was not surprised at how well the ring suited her; Booth had always given her the most appropriate presents, perfect for her. A simple band of gold with little diamonds and other gemstones set in flat so that there was nothing raised to catch on rubber gloves or expensive equipment. It was like a little sparkling band of prism.

But it was _his_ wedding band she found herself perseverating on. His hands were beautiful; there was really no other word for it. Strong, long fingered, a little calloused from engaging in all the physical work and training he did. She had always found his hands extremely attractive. But now...now, she was _mesmerized_.

His hands reaching for a cereal box, the remote, another piece of pizza. Passing her book to her, pouring beer from a pitcher at the bar, swiping his card to gain access to the forensic platform.

When he shook someone's hand, she would now watch his free hand, see the gleam of the ring, and think "That man is married," and realize that he was married to _her._

Booth cupped her face too gently for her to feel the ring against her cheek when he kissed her, but in their most passionate moments, when he lost control and gripped and held her in place where he wanted, _needed_, her, she was sure she could feel the pressure of the ring against her.

She had known intellectually, and even had begun to acknowledge and understand emotionally, what marriage meant for him. And despite her deep conviction that she knew herself well, Brennan half expected to be surprised by an increase of irrational feelings of passion and attachment. As she had said to Cam once, "in ignorance, I await my own surprise". But she wasn't surprised by herself, at least not by getting "goopy and gooey" as Angela would say.

What surprised her was the shock of pride and pleasure that came every time she saw that ring on his finger. He was _publicly_, every second of every day, saying that he chose to be with her. Temperance Brennan. Yes, brilliant and accomplished. But also awkward and driven, literal and in her opinion, probably meant to be alone. And yet, he preferred her company, her opinion, over others. Had for a long time. He liked her best. It was a little crazy to think it, but he clearly _liked_ how pathologically direct she was, even when he was irritated by it. And now...they were married. He wasn't just making things work, taking the good with all the not so good that came with this relationship.

This realization made her want to kiss him. Every time. First, she'd see the ring and think "he's married" then "he's married to me" then "oh my god he _chose_ to be married to me" and then "I want to kiss him". Her inner monologue had no care for where they were either...home, work, gym, Christine's daycare, the grocery store—

"Bones?" She moved her gaze from his hand to his face.

"Yes, Booth?"

"You okay?" He looked a little puzzled, maybe a little worried, his head turned to look at her from where he stood in their kitchen. She moved closer, her eyes slipping down to watch the soap and the grease slipping from his hands down the sink, revealing the gleam of gold. And so Brennan gave in, nudging her way between him and the sink, loving the feel of his hips pressed into hers even as he jumped and held his arms out to the side, laughing.

"_Bones_! I'm going to get you all wet." His mouth was still smiling when she pressed the first kiss to his lips.

"I don't care, Booth." She reached out as she opened her mouth under his, luring him deeper into a kiss even as she wove her fingers through his slippery ones, squeezing to feel the hard edges of the ring against the base of her finger.


	19. Chapter 19: The Ring in the Fountain

So, you can thank dgschneider and JBCFlyers19 for me reopening this story. They wanted to know when Booth bought the ring. I'm not sure I know! But the truth is in the telling, I suppose. So just a few more little stories maybe...

3Squares, 8/24/13

* * *

_From the transcript of Harbingers in the Fountain._

AVALON: The cards say only your top layer is rational. Underneath you're as crazy as I am. And that's a complement.

BRENNAN: Doesn't sound like one.

(BOOTH enters.)

BOOTH: This is usually when we go and drink.

AVALON: You two are going to keep doing things as usual.

BOOTH: Sometimes you gotta settle for second best.

(AVALON gives the two of them a look. BRENNAN looks a bit confused.)

AVALON: By the way, my cards tell me this all works out eventually.

(AVALON exits.)

BOOTH: Oh. (in disbelief) Really?

BRENNAN: What all works out eventually?

(BOOTH just stares at her.)

BRENNAN: What?

(BOOTH walks into his office.)

BRENNAN: (following him) What all works out eventually?

END.

* * *

Booth had an 11:00 meeting and he didn't know how long it was going to take so he told Bones he couldn't meet her for lunch that day. He was surprised then, to look up and find her at his office door, sometime mid-morning...he checked his watch, 10:17 am. He felt the lift in his mood the second he saw her, knew that it showed on his face. He had long since stopped hiding it, but he had _always_ fucking felt it. Always. Even way back when she mostly irritated him. Even then, he felt good when she was around. Curious or even ready for a good fight. Now he mostly wanted to kiss her, but still, she roused his fighting instincts when she got all snotty.

He knew now that she was always drawn to him too. Oh, she covered it under the guise of trying to figure out a scientific explanation for his unlikely success or ability to unearth motive or perceive lying, but she was drawn to him from the beginning. He didn't have to hide it anymore, didn't even try. She, however, out of habit or sheer cussedness—Booth favored the latter—still did.

He pushed his chair back from his desk to swivel and face her fully, smiling. "Bones! What's up?"

"Oh, you know, Booth, I was here and thought I should say hello." Yeah, right. Bones didn't just show up for no reason. And her body language was pure Bones. Pure has-something-to-ask-or-say-but-doesn't-know-how Bones. She looked behind her quickly, moved into his office farther. She paused near the desk and looked up at him, thinking, and then moved into him where he sat and, flicking another glance behind her, leaned over to kiss him. She was ready for him to try to pull her into his lap so instead he bracketed her face with his hands and held her in place, prolonging the kiss that she would have kept short. Surprised, she tried to pull back but, he thought smugly, she never could resist a soft kiss.

When he finally ended the kiss and pulled back gently until he could see her, her eyes were closed and her lips turned up softly. She blinked slowly and to his surprise, instead of pulling away, kissed him again. He let her take the lead this time, and found that he was gripping her hips when she finally released him. This time, _she_ smiled, and now _she_ was a little smug.

"Did you come here just to kiss me? Not that I'm complaining…" He said, almost whispering, enjoying being close to her, the sound of her breath, her scent.

"No." This time, she didn't look behind her but she wanted to, he could tell.

"What gives, Bones? You want to ask me something?" She straightened and stood at the side of his desk, shifting some papers a little farther from the edge.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I was wondering something."

He really was curious now. They'd only been married a few weeks, and their lives hadn't changed really, but he still hadn't gotten used to the burst of pure _joy_ he felt when he thought about it (often), or when she referred to it (rarely), or when he was conscious of the ring on his finger (every second of every damn day).

"Sure, Bones. What do you want to know?"

"I wondered…" She glanced up at him from where her face tilted downward and then forced herself to look at him boldly, a little aggressive, the way she got when she was insecure. "...I wondered when...precisely...you bought me this ring." They both glanced down at her hand.

Booth reached out and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her fingers and ring. It was his turn to smile and he let it be gentle, didn't respond to the aggression. "This ring?" he teased.

She nodded, once.

Instead of teasing her more, he answered.

"After you were stabbed with the scalpel." And her eyes widened as he spoke; her fingers tightened on his.

"Remember? Dr. Leacock. Harbingers of the New something or other?" He cleared his throat, suddenly dry. "Avalon?" She nodded a little, but was obviously shocked by his answer.

"Avalon said to us that 'Everything worked out eventually,' and she meant us, us being together. Before that...she was the one who told me that you were in danger. That's why I went to Leacock's office, remember? She _told _me, Bones. And she was _right_. So when she said that everything worked out, I...I just knew that it meant we would be together someday. I didn't actually buy you a wedding ring." She looked confused now. "I mean, I knew then that I loved you—at least when I wasn't listening to Sweets—and I didn't know if you would ever marry me, but I thought that maybe I could buy you something." He let the silence lengthen. "I was in Alexandria to drop Parker off with Rebecca's parents and instead of driving home, I stopped in town to get lunch, walked around, found myself in a jewelry store. Handmade, one of a kind, the kind of stuff you like, and I don't know…I just saw the ring and thought that it was pretty. Sparkly and colorful and a little bit too much for most women. But I thought you'd like it, and you have always been a little bit _more_ than everyone else." Now, he smiled a little ruefully, a little shyly himself, surprised at himself for having this conversation now, at work, when usually he would put her off until later. But then again, she didn't usually ask. And he always answered her, always knew she deserved an answer. Even if it wasn't the strict truth.

Bones extracted her hand and held it out, the fluorescent lighting perfect for making it sparkle. "I do like it very much, Booth. I can't...can't believe that you bought it so long ago." When she looked up, he made sure she saw his change in expression. "Wait. What? Booth! Are you telling me the truth?"

Damn, he loved how she couldn't tell if he was lying. He stood and as always, she held her ground. Because of this, they were close, really close and he pulled her even closer. Her body went stiff and she leaned back to meet his eyes, demanding. "Booth. Tell me the truth. Was that a true story about how you bought this ring?"

"What do you think, Bones?"

"I don't know, Booth! How would I know? Why would you lie to me about this?"

"Aw, Bones. I'm not really lying. I'm just…" He leaned over and kissed along her cheek and jaw, nuzzled behind her ear. "...just telling you about one time that I _definitely_ thought about buying you a ring. Maybe it was this time, maybe it was a different time, but…" She had stopped squirming and had tilted her head to the side, giving him better access, inviting him to continue kissing her. He paused and whispered into her ear, "I believed then that this would happen. Even if I doubted later, I believed then." And he pressed his lips to hers again.

A male throat-clearing sounded at the door. Booth pulled away reluctantly and looked up. "Sweets."

The man had the grace to look abashed. "We've...uh…" Sweets glanced at his watch meaningfully, "...got to get going if we are going to get across town." Booth didn't let this rush him and turned back to Bones, reached out to cup her cheek. He held her eyes but raised his voice so Sweets could hear him. "I'll meet you in the lobby, Sweets. Five minutes." He didn't look to see if the other man obeyed.

"Booth—" He stopped her with his mouth, just because he could, because suddenly he realized that he was kissing his _wife_ in the middle of a day when he hadn't known he was going to see her and now he had to go and he was going to kiss her for at least a few more seconds. Her mouth was sweet and while it was far from an x-rated kiss, the softness of her lips, the way they molded to his, the way her curvy body leaned into him, melted against him until he was taking most of her weight...it was all so perfect for him. _She_ was perfect for him.

The starch returned to her spine and she took a step back, pulled away. "Booth, was that story the truth?" She wasn't indignant anymore but she did look confused.

He answered honestly. "This is the truth, Bones: I thought about buying you a ring many times. Even after I had the ring, I thought about what it would have been like if I had bought a ring on those days. How about this? I'll tell you the stories, and then you can decide which one you think was the time I actually bought the ring. Deal?" Recovering from the events of last month, of the months of living under Pelant's malevolent presence, hadn't been easy. The stories had helped, helped lighten both of their loads.

She nodded, understanding, and even smiled a little, bragging. "I _will_ guess the correct occasion, Booth." He smiled back but didn't say anything. "See you at home later?" She walked the rest of the way to the door as she said this and then paused, turning her head back to meet his eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah, Bones. See you at home. I should be home by six."

"Okay, Booth." She turned away but just as quickly turned back. "Avalon…"

He grabbed the three file folders he needed, a pad, a pen and slid them into his briefcase. When she didn't continue, he looked up, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Avalon said something to me too, something when we were alone, when she was looking at her cards. She said," Bones met his eyes boldly now, as always when she was telling the truth, even one with which she was uncomfortable. "She said 'The answer to the question that you're afraid to say out loud is: he knows the truth of you, yet he is dazzled by that truth.'"

And then she was gone, and he was the one left with his mouth hanging open.


	20. Chapter 20: The Ring in the Summer

A/N: It is September. Wow. Just a little over two weeks until the beginning of season 9. I am liking what feels like a rush of fanfic in the last two weeks. New Bones stories from, in no particular order, dharmamonkey, Covalent Bond, casket4mytears, AmandaFriend, dgschneider, givesup, sunsetdreamer, razztaztic, faithinbones, jazzyproz, delia84, natesmama, some1tookmyname, Wendish, lesera128, LJLanham, sleeplessinatlanta, rositaLG, MiseryMaker, and gawilliams. [Please PM me if I have forgotten something really recent!] Also, I am experiencing the anniversary rush that came with realizing that I have been writing fanfic for a year. In honor of that anniversary, I wrote another chapter for my first story, Baby on the Beach. It will post just after this one. I hope you like this one, or that one, or both of them, or one of the other people's stories. Cause it is BONES MONTH, BABY!

3sq, 9/1/13

* * *

This time, he didn't let her pull the scalpel out. This time, the murderous doctor had thrust it in the meaty part of her upper arm in a last ditch effort to escape. This time, he didn't have to kill the guy, just knocked him out with a blow just short of deadly, the familiar rage just barely contained. Brennan always aroused his competitive instincts, his instinct to protect, but the reservoir of rage running cold and deep and rough just below the surface always ran a little more quietly when she with with him. Once again he sank to the floor with her, holding her, talking to her. He prevented her from pulling out the scalpel. When he was sure she heard him, he thumbed open the phone and called for an ambulance, for back up. He would have taken her to the hospital himself but he knew she would just insist on answering questions and ordering people around at the scene. This way, when the EMTs showed up, _they_ could bully her into the ambulance.

But for now, he just held her, shaking with a fucking all too familiar feeling of terror at the sight of her blood. He felt, as always, like it was his blood draining away. But he tried not to let his fear and worry show. He just kissed her head and stroked her hair with the hand that wasn't gripping her so tightly to him that his fingers would leave bruises. For her part, Bones had her face wedged against his chest and was curling into him so hard that her face was pressing low against his shoulder, almost under his arm. _Was she trying to hide? _

"Bones. Bones, baby." She didn't respond except to press a little harder, deeper against him. He knew she wasn't squeamish at even the sight of her own blood, but her face was turned as far as way as she could get it from the wound. "You okay, baby? Bones, honey?" All the endearments she so rarely allowed but _goddammit, they were married and she had been stuck but a fucking scalpel for the second goddamned time for chrissakes. _He felt her speak against his shoulder. He couldn't believe that she could breathe down there. He probably reeked of sweat. She had taken another five years off his life. "Bones, I can't smell too good there, babe, and I can't hear you. C'mon, just turn your head a little okay? I've got you. It's going to be okay. Help is on the way. Can you just look at me, Bones? Baby?"

She turned her head and he shifted so that her body rested as comfortably as possible against him. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she whispered something again.

"What, Bones? What do you need?"

"Tell me about the ring, Booth. _My_ ring. Tell me about the ring." He kissed her forehead, along her hairline. She was sweaty too but she didn't seem to be bleeding much from the wound. He knew she was alright but couldn't bear the sight of her blood. He closed his eyes too, dropped his cheek against her hair. His throat was raspy with tension.

"I bought it while you were gone. When you were away last summer."

She made a small sound like a whimper. He knew she still felt guilty, didn't know how to erase it. It was worse now, or maybe it was better, since he carried a similar guilt. _Her face, when he told her he thought they shouldn't get married. Her voice when she said they were alright._ He squeezed her tighter, stroked the side of her face he could reach.

"_Tell me._" Her voice was strong enough, but he could hear the pain. "Tell me, Booth."

"Well, I did it to fuck with Flynn, really. He was all over me. All day at work, then people watching me at night. Him dropping by to go over the details one more time. He confiscated my phone records and went over them daily; all my email was monitored. For a week, I stayed at home and then I figured, fuck it, let them fire me if they wanted, but I was going to work. So I worked but for my own protection, they temporarily assigned me to Intelligence. Cullen, even Hacker, didn't like it, but it did protect me, in a way, that assignment, and it was the best chance I had for stumbling across information that might help. So then, for a while, I just—"

Booth heard sirens coming closer. "Bones, they're almost here. Just hang on." She nuzzled her nose demandingly into his side, lips pressed white against the pain. "Okay, okay. Knock it off, Bones. That hurts. Your nose is pointy." He was rewarded with a small smile. "_Sweetheart_... baby, are you okay?" She poked him with her nose again, but a little more gently.

He resumed his story, alert to the sound of help arriving. "Hmm, where was I? Oh, yeah, so for a while I just went to work and then home. I didn't want to be anywhere else. Hodgins and Angela, Cam, Wendell, Caroline, Pops, even Cullen asked me home for dinner. I was too angry, too hurt, to be around other people. But then, Flynn just started pissing me off. He just was always around, you know? And the same two guys I had never seen before sitting in front of my house. And they weren't lazy bastards either. They'd split up, walk around, poke around oustide the garage. They had two cars and split up sometimes. So I figured it would be better to make them work for it." Her lips twitched and he knew she was glad. She was as bloodthirsty and vindictive as he was when someone messed with his people, his family. Two of a kind.

The door to the offices where he held her burst open and a lot of people rushed in to help. Her grip on his hand really did hurt, but he didn't mind. She squeezed his fingers demandingly.

"_Bones…_" Again, the demanding squeeze. "Fine." He didn't even glance at the paramedics as they prepped and then lifted her onto the stretcher, raising it up to roll it through the deserted offices. He walked alongside.

"So I started going places, just so those assholes had to follow me. Farmer's market, dinner at people's houses, the Mall, the _mall_." He hated shopping, especially at the big local mall. She knew that and again, he thought he saw her lips twitch. "One Saturday, I took Angela and Michael Vincent to an outdoor art show. Turns out this show runs all summer and Angela went a lot on the weekends just for something to do. This time, Hodgins couldn't come and Angela wanted company and help. I think she was trying to distract me, plus in the end it was good because she got to walk around the art show and I took Michael. I missed you both so much, Bones. You and Christine. Holding Michael should have made it worse but it didn't. Knowing Christine was out there, only a little younger than him, learning to sit up and eat cheerios, was comforting somehow." They were in the ambulance now and Bones wasn't the only one listening. He got the distinct impression that the EMT in the back with them was listening to every word.

"But walking around with Michael wasn't annoying Flynn enough so I started going into tents and talking to the proprietors. Asked to see things. Many of them were art dealers, but there were people selling jewelry and books and everything really. I would ask to see something that was behind the counter, or in a case. That way, the agents following me would have to come in and question the owner to see if I had asked to use a phone or had asked them to mail a letter for me or something. I felt a little bad for the owners but not bad enough to stop. The next weekend, I went back. And now I really did feel bad for the owners, because they were going through the interrogation for a second time. So," Booth glanced out of the window, from the cityscape rushing by, he knew they were still a few minutes away, "so I started buying things. A scarf, a painted sign, a piece of art that Angela liked, a pocket watch for Pops. I bought Parker a a...a...machine thingamabob...uh" Booth looked up at the paramedic helplessly, trying to remember the name. She, for her part, had long since stopped trying to pretend she wasn't listening. "You know, there is a marble and then you drop it and there are springs and cogs and all kinds of stuff happens…"

The words rushed out of her. "A Rube Goldberg Machine."

"Yeah, yeah, that's it, Bones. Thanks, babe, I knew you'd know." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. And then he kissed her nose, which had crinkled when he had called her 'baby' in public, as if the back of a friggin ambulance counted as public.

"So I was kind of driving the agents wild — I was also driving all around at night too — and eventually some of the shop owners complained and Cullen caught wind and it was just what he needed to push back against Flynn a little and the surveillance dropped back to just electronic. I never saw those two assholes again. I should ask Flynn who the hell they were." Another demanding squeeze from his wife — that _fucker_ stabbed his _wife_ — and he rushed to finish his story. He wasn't sure what the scalpel had hit or cut or what they might need to do at the hospital and he wanted to be done by the time they got there.

"I went back one more time with Angela although I had lost interest. She stayed with me the whole time, made me buy her drinks and held onto my arm. Made me go into almost every tent. In the very last tent, they had set up for an auction. I saw the ring and wanted it. For you." Her eyes, shut tight this entire time, opened now. The bright blue gaze grounded him, like it always did. He confessed. "I didn't want Angela to know I was buying it, so I went back later. I didn't know if you would ever marry me, or honestly, if you would ever come back. Once I bought it though, I felt more certain that you would."

He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers gently. "Aw, baby, you have to stop getting hurt." A voice intruded.

"Sir? Agent? We're ready to move her into the hospital now."

"C'mon, Bones." One last time before she started objecting again. "Let's get you fixed up. Okay?"

She smiled weakly up at him, squeezed his hand, and nodded.


	21. Chapter 21: The Ring Way Up High

At home hours later, bone weary, both Brennan and Booth dragged themselves up the stairs to their bedroom. When all the excitement was over and Brennan was somewhat less than happily ensconced in a hospital room to await treatment, Booth had called Max to pick up Christine from daycare and take her for the night. This served a dual purpose: to secure Christine's care as well as to keep Max from descending on Brennan in the hospital.

They had both spent too much time getting patched up—or waiting for someone who was getting patched up—to enjoy this brief stay in any way. The dramatic events which led to their presence at the hospital on this particular night now seemed distant and unlikely. Getting stabbed with a scalpel in the arm _twice_? Like a television drama, too contrived to be real. But the aftermath was sordid enough to lend an air of authenticity to the proceedings. The long wait, the procession of pleasant nurses, the many releases and forms to sign. Brennan refused pain killers, except the local administered during the cleaning and stitching procedure, and was hurting and grouchy during the trip through the hospital to his truck. Her mood elevated to mute and uncommunicative once they were driving and Booth recognized it for the improvement that it was. Once they were home, he relaxed further when she made a small joke about his having gone to great lengths to get a night alone with her. He put a hand on the back of her head, smoothed the long hair down her back to her waist, soothed himself with the reassuring touch.

"Bones, let's go to bed. You ready?"

"Yes, Booth. I can say I am definitely ready to be home, to go to bed." He had turned on a light in the kitchen, but they stood now in the living room, shadowy and dim yet utterly familiar. The scent of fruit from the bowl on the kitchen counter, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway...Brennan found herself leaning forward to rest and relax her full body weight against Booth. His body, as always, was rock solid, warm and steady, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She lay her cheek against his shoulder, sad from the pain and anxiety but glad, always so glad, to be with him.

She breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Until her body relaxed enough for her to think. The throbbing in her upper arm was truly distracting now and tomorrow she was supposed to take Christine to a baby shower for one of Booth's coworkers. She _could_ say that she was too ill to go—she didn't really _want_ to go, of course, such events having almost no redeeming value when stacked up against the kind of activities she usually preferred. She was unexpectedly gratified, however, that Booth's colleague had included her, even though Booth was barred from the event with the other men. Brennan couldn't help but be intrigued. The modern world did not hold on to many traditions that categorically banned members of the opposite sex. So while she could send her regrets, the shower was happening in the afternoon and she had purchased the sweetest onesie to go with a stack of books and she was really, truth be told, looking forward to it a little. Purely in the spirit of scientific inquiry of course.

Booth's hand rubbed warm circles on her back, through her shirt, all through her exhausted musings. She loved his smell, the feel of the broadcloth under her cheek, the end-of-the-day rough feel of the skin at his neck on her forehead and face. She nuzzled at his adam's apple a little and was gratified to feel him pull her closer, tighter.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to take the painkillers, Bones?" When she didn't answer, he jiggled her a little and sounded hopeful, "Bones? What do you think? You really should get some sleep tonight…"

"I don't know, Booth. I tend to be very sensitive to medication. It can make me quite nauseated—"

"How about just half the dose then, Bones. One pill?"

She thought a minute longer, feeling her chest press against his with every rise and fall. She thought of the shower, spending time with Christine tomorrow, of an efficient healing sleep… "Well, all right then. Just one."

Booth practically ran to the kitchen, bringing her back water and the pill. She took it and then held on to Booth's arm with her one good one, letting him help her upstairs. In the low light of their bedroom, Brennan let him take her clothes off and dress her in one of his tshirts. He smoothed the worn material, steeped in his scent, over her shoulders and down her back, his hand stroking and coming to rest on her behind. He squeezed a little, making her laugh and press into him again. He turned them, as if they were dancing and pulled away just enough to turn down the sheets. She was starting to feel the warm fuzziness of the painkillers. Her _feet_ felt numb, and her _nose. _ Huh. But something wasn't right.

"Booth," she complained, "that isn't my side of the bed."

"I know, Bones, but this way you can rest on your left side and I can hold you." He shifted so she was standing in front of him and one strong hand rested on her stomach, pulling her against him. With his free hand, he pulled her hair back so that he could kiss her neck and shoulder. "Mmmm...you always smell good. Like you." She was feeling quite numb in a variety of places, but not her neck, where his lips settled.

"Booth, did you remember to remove the bacon from the refrigerator? You know I don't like it in there with my vegetarian sausage. Can we have that in the morning for breakfast?" She just enjoyed the feeling of leaning back against him, the warm tide of peaceful disassociation rising up over her head. Booth was silent a long time.

"Bones, what did you say?"

"What Booth?"

"Did you say something about bacon?"

"I don't remember, Booth. Can we go to bed now?" She turned to stumble toward their bed. Booth caught her, helped her down, smoothed and tucked and almost tut tutted. She laughed, surprised herself by how throaty and abandoned her laugh was. She _was_ tired, but she didn't feel so crabby any more. "Booth?"

She felt his lips on her forehead. "Bones, I am going to go turn off the lights. I'll be right back."

"Booth?"

"Yes, Bones?" He was only a step away from her side.

"Booth?"

"What is it, babe?" His voice was patient but he sounded like he was laughing at her.

"I know you are laughing at me, Booth. Don't think you can distract me with kisses…" As she had anticipated, he came back to the bed, leaned down close and bracketed her with his strong arms. Her eyelids were too heavy to open so she just leaned up carefully until she estimated her lips were just about in the right place and then tried to kiss him, giggling a little, rubbing her tingling lips, not really numb, against his cheek until she could find all the right parts of his lips. He let her kiss him, and when she wouldn't let him pull away, he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"Bones. I've got to go turn the lights out. I'll be right back." That's what he said, but he didn't make any move to leave, but stroked her hair and pressed down on the blankets until she felt warm all over. She subsided and released his mouth.

He leaned back down for one more kiss and she asked, against his mouth, "Booth?" She felt his lips curve up again.

"_Yes_, Bones?"

"Aren't you mad at me? For getting hurt?"

He tenderly slipped strands of hair behind her ears with his rough, warm fingers, and she could, against all logic, _feel _him looking at her, almost studying her.

"Yeah, Bones," he almost whispered, voice low and harsh. "Yeah. I'm mad at you."

Her eyes flew open and she felt the sting of tears. "You _are_, Booth? Really?" She felt a few tears dribbled down her temples and start to pool in her ears. Pressing her lips together against a sob, she closed her eyes tight again.

Now Booth laughed gently and kissed her wet eyes. Very unhygenic. But sweet. "Just a little, babe. I'll get over it. I'll yell at you tomorrow, okay?"

"Booth?"

"You want us to go bankrupt because our electric bill is too high, don't you? You aren't ever going to let me turn out the lights, are you Bones?"

"Booth, be serious." She felt his body shake a little with laughter against her hip and frowned. "Booth, I don't think it is funny."

"Again, just a little, Bones. What can I do for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said my name, like you wanted something. What do you want, Bones?"

"Booth?"

"_Yes_, Bones?"

"I know you didn't buy the ring at that auction, while I was gone."

"You got me, Bones. How did you know?"

"I asked Angela. She said you and she never saw them setting up for an auction." She didn't feel quite so sleepy now that she was lying down and she blinked to clear her vision. Looked at his beautiful face. She reached out and traced his nose and lips with her finger. "You're pretty, Booth."

"Bones!" He laughed. "You are funny when you are high. I didn't know you reacted to painkillers like this."

"Not all of them, Booth, but some of them. I should have paid better attention. But stop changing the subject, Booth." She gave him a stern look that was undermined by the giggle that rose up.

"What subject, Bones. How pretty I am?" He pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes. Brennan smiled, satisfied.

"Yes. But also you have to tell me another ring story. One that is more plausible."

"Bones, that one was plausible. I did go back, there was an auction, it just wasn't with Angela. And I saw a ring, liked it, but honestly, I already had this one—"

"A-ha, Booth!"

"A-ha, what, Bones?"

"Now I know that you bought it _before_ I went on the lam."

"Bones, I really wish you would stop calling it that. This isn't 1940."

"Booth?"

He answered, wearily. "Yes, Bones?"

"Go turn out the lights would you?" And dissolved into a fit of giggles. Booth shook his head, kissed her head quickly and took his chance where it came, ducking downstairs to flick off the lights and check that all the doors and windows were locked. When he came back, Brennan seemed asleep on her side; he quickly brushed his teeth, stripped down to boxers and a tshirt, and slipped into bed next to her. She hummed happily, sleepily, and shifted to press close as his body curved around hers.

"Well, Booth? Tell me another lie about when you bought the ring."

"You are very bossy tonight, Bones, did you know that?"

"Mmmm." She agreed.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_ when I bought the ring."

Her answer came immediately. "You bought it after I told you I was pregnant."

"What? Wait, why do you think that?"

"Well, you are very traditional and even though you know that I am not, you would have felt better if you were ready to marry me, the mother of your unborn child."

"You're wrong, Bones."

"It's not the first time, Booth." He snorted and kissed her neck.

"Bones, can I tell you something?" She twisted and craned her neck around so she could meet his eyes.

"Of course, Booth. You can tell me anything. Although, I might have already observed what you are about to tell me. I am very perspicacious."

"Oh, I suspect you know this. At least, I hope you have figured it out."

"What is it, Booth? Tell me and then I'll tell you if I knew."

"I love you, Bones." His voice was quiet and earnest. She had that serious look on her face, as if she was considering every syllable, every stress, every word. He waited for her acknowledgement.

"Booth, did you…" she pressed her face deep into the pillow suddenly, clearly on the verge of passing out for the night, "did you take the bacon out? I don't like the way it looks at the sausage."

Booth couldn't help but smile. She was so funny like this, he didn't get to see her loopy often. He leaned back and turned out the last of the lights. The room filled with darkness. He snuggled up to her again and pulled her close. He was just drifting off himself when he heard her mumbling. "I love you too, Booth." One last kiss, the soft skin of her cheek, the warm puff of her breath, and he followed her down.


End file.
